


[We Are Full] Of Life, Of Love

by ainewrites



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: Always a Happy Ending, F/F, Mostly Fluff, Tiny bits of Angst, because i love the dorks, but a happy ending, remember me asking if you'd read a pregnacy fic, well here it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-21 05:20:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10678524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ainewrites/pseuds/ainewrites
Summary: Apparently pregnancy is supposed to make women "glow". For the most part, it just makes Holtz constantly hungry while simultaneously wanting to puke her guts up, but yeah, she'll go with glow. It sounds a lot nicer than what's actually happening.-In which Erin and Holtz want a baby, make a baby, and have a baby.





	1. Conception

**Author's Note:**

> BRING IT ON, PREGNANCY FIC. Will it be tropey? Probably? Is it very fun to write? Of course. Am I learning lots of things I didn't necessarily want to know about pregnancy?
> 
> YEP.
> 
> Anyways, first chapter is a baby chapter, they'll get longer after this, I promise.

It wasn’t some big, romantic moment like in the sitcoms. It didn’t involve either of them staring longingly at children on a playground or walking down the street, holding laughing parent’s hands. In fact, when the subject comes up, they’re not even doing anything important; they’re on the couch, watching some horrible movie. Holtz has her head in Erin’s lap and a bowl of chips balanced on her stomach, and Erin’s about to fall asleep.

She’s in that drowsy place between sleep and wakefulness, brain not quite functioning in the way it normally would, which is probably why she blurts out the question without thinking it through, first.

“Would you maybe like to have a baby?”

Holtz freezes, the soft crunching stopping. Erin flushes a bright, brilliant red, because _oh my god_ she didn’t think that through, and they’ve only had one conversation, right when they were first dating, and that was five years ago, and Erin may have been thinking about this lately but Holtz probably wasn’t.

She opens her mouth to stammer out explanations, to backtrack. So that’s why Erin is so surprised when Holtz pops another chip into her mouth and shrugs.

“Let’s do it.”

“Wait, what?” Erin looks down at Holtz, who blinks up at her, the blue of her eyes filtered through the yellow-tinged lenses of her glasses. Holtz licks a fleck of chip off the corner of her lip.

“Let’s do it. Put a baby in it.” She makes an odd gesture, part hip thrust, part finger guns at the lower part of Erin’s stomach.

Erin laughs, threading her fingers through the engineer’s hair. “Really? You’re not joking, right?”

Holtz shakes her head, face serious. “Of course not. Let’s make a baby, baby.”

“That was awful.”

“You loved it.”

-

As it turns out, making a baby comes with a lot of doctor’s appointments. That should be expected, considering that the pair of them lacks a certain piece of anatomy typically needed in baby-making, but they make do with doctors and fertility clinics and the occasional blood test.

Holtz is the perfect wife, cheerfully coming to Erin with Erin to every appointment, even the super mundane ones that are literally nothing more than talking about tracking ovulation, and Erin thinks that she’s so, so lucky. Because any soon-to-be pregnant woman needs a supportive partner, and Holtz is really taking the gold medal for this.

Then, the appointment comes. The awful, awful appointment. The doctor is kind and gentle and understanding, and she never rushes or looks irritated. She explains that it was probably caused by the case of appendicitis that Erin had in her early twenties, that caused scarring around the uterus.

But Erin doesn’t really remember being told that, later. She just remembers the horrible words, echoing around in her ears for hours afterward.

 _I’m sorry, but you’re unable to conceive_.

Holtz, who’s quiet and pale, wraps a sobbing Erin up in her arms and takes her home. Somewhere on the cab right back, Erin just…shuts off. She’s barely aware of the elevator ride to the apartment, barely aware of Holtz tucking her into bed, shutting off the light, even though it’s barely seven.

She just keeps hearing the sound of a hope dying, splintering into dust around her. It’s only been a few weeks, only a few weeks after the conversation on the couch, but it was enough time for _hope_.

Erin hates herself for hoping, a little bit. Because in the back of her mind she knew something like this could happen, and she is older than most women having their first kids, and conception isn’t exactly the easiest thing to predict. But she hoped.

And that hope was snatched away, quickly and violently, in under five seconds, in under ten words.

Erin stares at the ceiling, at the fan circling slowly. Holtz had, at one point, taken a gold sharpie to the blades and drawn smiley faces on the bottoms, and right now, it feels like they’re mocking Erin.

Because she couldn’t ask Holtz to carry the baby. Holtz has a deep and innate dislike toward doctors and medical procedures, and with pregnancy comes some of the most invasive and intimate medical procedures you can have. It was always going to be Erin who got pregnant, Erin who had the kid, and therefor Erin who underwent the poking and prodding and monitoring.

And now, she can’t.

At some point, she’s too exhausted to keep thinking, keep crying, and she falls asleep, not even really aware she’s drifting off.

She’s woken up by Holtz, sliding into bed at 4AM, less than three hours before she has to get up again. Erin turns, noticing the hollows under Holtz’s eyes even in the darkness, and reaches out for her hand.

“I’m sorry,” Erin says, choking on the words.

“Er-bear, what are you sorry for?” Holtz clutches her wife’s hand tightly, pulling her closer.

“That I can’t have kids. That we can’t have kids.”

“Er,” Holtz shakes her head. “That’s stupid. You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s not something that you can control. As for the not having kids part...” She leans forward and kisses the very tip of Erin’s nose. “It’s my turn.”

Erin blinks, shocked. “But…doctors.”

“I can live through nine months of medical hell,” Holtz says confidently, “especially if it means we get a kid at the end.”

Erin starts crying again. For an enterally different reason, this time. Holtz laughs a little bit, kissing away the now-happy tears, and snuggles against Erin. Erin wraps her arms around the engineer, kissing the top of her head.

She doesn’t sleep again that night.

(She spends the last few hours on her phone, googling every question relating to pregnancy she can think of)

-

Yes, Holtz hates the doctor’s appointments. Hates them with a deep and burning passion. She hates the paper-covered tables and the too-thin gowns and the smell of rubbing alcohol and the too-bright lights. She tries to look relaxed, while she waits, she always does. She lounges on the chairs, legs flung over arms and head in Erin’s lap, reading the stupidest magazine she can get her hands on. Only Erin seems to notice the way her foot bounces, the way her breath catches, and how, in the actual room, her hands will fist in the gown and she’ll wait in a sort of terror that comes with a pounding heart and a cramping stomach.

Yeah, she really, really hates doctors.

And, as it turns out, you’re not just magically pregnant the first time you’re inseminated. You have about a 10% chance of it happening, and it didn’t happen the first time, as much as Erin and Holtz hoped it would.

Nor did it the second.

Or the third.

Or the fourth.

It’s months of tracking and planning and doctor’s appointments, and Holtz gets to know the fertility clinic far, far too well for her liking.

The fifth time is particularly awful. Of course, all these appointments are awful and uncomfortable (strange metal things getting shoved in your vagina by almost or total strangers is never a pleasant experience), but this one is particularly awful.

It starts with them running almost an hour late, which means almost an hour of Holtz sitting in the waiting room, with a cramping stomach and a pounding heart, trying to look relaxed. Then, when they finally get into the tiny, unpleasantly chilly room, it’s a male tech that comes, not a woman, like they had originally requested.

The thought of a male tech doing the insemination is too much for Holtz, and she throws up in the trash can in the corner while Erin goes and yells at people until a woman comes. And though she originally has a sunny smile and Holtz thinks she might like her, until she asks if Erin’s a friend coming for emotional support. When Erin testily responds that she’s Holtz’s wife, the woman’s face clouds, and she’s short and her words are clipped for the rest of the visit.

(Erin later rants about this in the cab on the way back home. She called it horribly unprofessional.)

After the actual insemination, she’s left to stare at the ceiling for fifteen minutes, the room uncomfortably cold, and she shivers on the table, even when Erin drapes her sweatshirt over her.

“Hey, Er?”

“Yeah?” Erin looks up from her phone. She’s been texting Abby updates over the last hour and a half, and Holtz assumes probably ranting about the homophobic tech, and her eyebrows are furrowed in concern.

“Let’s take a month of, okay?” Holtz stares at the ceiling. Someone had taped old cartoons to the ceiling, probably because of all the woman who come here day after day and stare upwards. They’re just a bit too far away to read without really concentrating, and she wonders if that was the point. “A month without poking and prodding and doctors.”

Neither of them mention the fact that there’s a chance she just got pregnant. It’s been months, and with each month they get a little bit less hopeful.

Maybe they aren’t made to have a kid, after all.

-

The one month break transitions into two, and Holtz had forgone the pregnancy test. She’d been taking them religiously for the last few months, as soon as possible, pretty much up until the next appointment, and she’s peed on enough white plastic sticks to last a lifetime.

Abby and Patty stop asking about appointments, and the fertility tracking app on Erin’s phone (because Holtz is too forgetful about these kinds of things to do it herself) is all but abandoned. They haven’t given up, exactly, they just need a mental break; a few months without building hopes that then come down when another pregnancy test turns out to be negative.

Then, Holtz starts getting exhausted.

She’s been known since she was a teenager at MIT to be able to power through anything on only a few hours of sleep; entire years of her life she’s been fueled on nothing but caffeine and stubbornness. Abby had to eventually ban her from getting any type of energy drink or booster after the one particularly exciting week Holtz discovered five-hour energy. But now, it feels like she’s dragging herself from bed to the couch in the firehouse back to bed, and Erin’s starting to get concerned.

But it’s when she finds Holtz passed out at her desk that she starts getting afraid.

Holtz is woken up by Erin shaking her gently, and she lifts her head, the edge of her goggles digging into the side of her head.

“I think you should see a doctor,” Erin says, and Holtz sits up, stretching. Her spine makes a series of popping sounds as she twists.

“I’m fine, Er.” She yawns so widely that the corners of her mouth hurt. “I’m just tired.”

“You’re never tired,” Erin points out. “I think I’ve maybe seen you fall asleep at work once, and that was after you stayed up for three days finishing that proton canon.”

Holtz leans back in her chair, swinging her feet up onto the desk. Erin has perched herself awkwardly on the edge, and is nearly smacked by Holtz’s boot. “I’m fine,” she says again, but she’s less certain, this time. Even now, just waking up, she can feel the heaviness of wanting to sleep.

“No doctors, though,” she says, quickly, as she recognizes Erin noticing her worry. “No doctors, yet. Google it first. Web MD it.”

Erin looks hesitant. “Is that really the best idea?”

“I’ll do it.” Holtz makes a grab for Erin’s phone, who holds it just out of reach. She types madly into it for a second, then scrolls down.

“Okay, it says some of the most common reasons for a woman to be constantly tired is diabetes…”

“Don’t have that.”

“Thyroid disease…”

“Not, that either. What is a thyroid, anyways?”

“Insomnia…”

“If anything, I have the opposite.”

Erin scrolls down again, and freezes. Holtz leans over in an attempt to see the phone screen without moving from her position. “What? What does it say?”

“Pregnancy.” Erin’s voice is so quiet. “It…it says that one of the most common early symptoms of pregnancy is fatigue.” She looks up at Holtz, eyes wide. “Do you…do you think it worked? Finally?”

Holtz pops to her feet. “I think I have a pregnancy test in the bathroom upstairs.” She grabs her wife’s hand. “I stashed a few in there in case I couldn’t wait until we got home.”

Holtz expects Erin to leap to her feet, let herself be pulled along easily, but she doesn’t. She stays there, on Holtz’s desk, and there’s an odd emotion on her face, one Holtz can’t quite place.

“Er?”

“What if it’s not?” Erin says, and her voice carries something odd. “What if it’s another negative? And something’s actually really wrong.”

Holtz gives a quick tug, pulling Erin closer to her so she can wrap her arms around Erin’s waist. “Then we’ll deal with it. But I dunno. I have a good feeling about this.” She reaches up and places kiss on the very tip of Erin’s nose. “Come on. I have go pee on a stick.”

-

They sit in the bathroom and wait. They clutch each other’s hands so tightly it hurts. Holtz presses the palm of her hand against her lower stomach, and she closes her eyes. Holtz doesn’t believe in God, but in this moment, she thinks she may be praying.

The timer on Erin’s phone goes off. Holtz picks the stick off the counter, holding her breath.

A tiny, pink plus sign.

She cries. She can’t help it, but she cries.

-

It’s Erin who finds the OBGYN. Holtz had left her to do it, because her typical style of choosing a doctor is to pick one at random. Erin actually researches. Holtz isn’t enterally sure how one goes about researching a doctor, but Erin someone does, and that’s how she finds herself in another waiting room. This one is sickeningly cheerful. The walls are painted pale green with smiling cartoon clouds and suns, and there are pictures of babies everywhere.

Literally everywhere.

There are also all those plastic anatomical models everywhere, as well as a couple of posters of the female reproductive system. Only at an OBGYN’s office can you find a plastic vagina and consider that completely normal.

The doctor breezes in cheerfully. She’s a tiny woman, smaller either than Holtz, with massive amounts of dark curly hair and glasses that resemble Harry Potter’s. She perches on the spinning stool, pulling the computer closer to her.

“Dr. Holtzmann, is that right?” She asks cheerfully, and at Holtz’s nod, continues. “I’m Dr. Ramirez. I talked to your wife a few days ago. She says you took a home pregnancy test?”

Holtz nods, twisting the edge of her shirt between her fingers. She felt an instant relief when the nurse who came to take her blood had told her she didn’t need to change into a gown, just take her jacket off. She still feels vulnerable, though. Erin seems to sense this, because she gives Holtz an encouraging smile when she meets her eyes.

“Yeah,” Holtz says, forcing herself to meet the doctor’s eyes. “On Wednesday.”

Dr. Ramirez nods, typing something into the computer. “And you were artificially inseminated, right?”

“Right,” Holtz conforms. “We’re missing a vital piece of baby-making to do it naturally. Ya can’t make a baby with two vaginas, no matter how much you may wish it.”

Dr. Ramirez laughs, which makes Holtz blink in surprise. “Trust me, I know. It’d make this process a lot easier for a lot of us.” She spins around on her chair to face Holtz. “I don’t do any sort of physical examinations until the eight-week mark, this is more a yes-you’re-definitely-pregnant and a hi-let’s-not-be-strangers-when-I-give-you-a-pelvic-exam sort of visit. I’m going to write you a prescription for prenatal vitamins, although you don’t have to get it filled; I know not all insurances pay for it.”

And, the appointment’s over. They schedule another appointment in two weeks, and they leave the building. Holtz rests her head on Erin’s shoulder as they do, and they stroll down the sidewalk toward a café that Erin had noticed coming it.

She was pregnant. Officially pregnant.

She exhales softly, one hand sliding up, almost unconsciously to curl around her stomach.

One month down. Eight to go. She’s going to rock this whole pregnancy thing. After all, it can’t be as awful as everyone says it is, right?


	2. First Trimester

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, the more I research pregnancy the less I want it to ever happen to me. It's kind of how I feel about doing any sort of medical training, thanks to all the research I've done for books previous. I've learned about A LOT of deeply unpleasant things you need to do.
> 
> Anyways. Onwards with the chapter! And thank you for your kudos and comments on the first! This one is longer, I promise.

 

It’s not uncommon to find Holtzmann up to her knees in garbage. Fascinating things can be found in the many New York dumpsters, and some of those fascinating things can be very useful. Every trash day she ventures into the alleys, ready to find any abandoned electronics or metal scraps that someone else may have discarded.

You know what they say, after all. One man’s trash is another woman’s future proton shotgun.

And typically, the smell doesn’t bother her, but now, she’s standing in a dumpster in her rainboot overalls (Patty calls them waders, but they’re rainboot overalls and no one can tell Holtz otherwise), and she’s suddenly feeling very, very sick to her stomach. Because, god, the _smells_. Urine and rotting food and mold, and it feels like her stomach is trying to force its way up her throat, and that is _not pleasant_ and _no don’t do that_ , but she can’t stop it.

She pukes all over the trash she had been sorting through two seconds before. It’s mostly water, because she hadn’t been able to stomach breakfast this morning, either. For the last couple of weeks, she’s been surviving off mostly crackers, dry toast, and ginger ale, which makes her want to weep in sadness because she loves food.

But, apparently, once someone confirmed that, yes, Holtz, you are now growing a human being inside your uterus, thanks for asking, her body went ALL SYSTEMS GO, LET’S FUCK SHIT UP, and now she has what feels like every symptom known to pregnant womankind.

Fatigue. Headaches. Cramping. Mood swings. And now, wonderfully, morning sickness, which boasts a total lie of a name because that shit lasts _all day_.

She climbs out of the dumpster and starts the short walk back to the firehouse, ignoring the odd looks people give her.

She flings the firehouse door open, making Patty, who’s at her desk, jump, and Kevin looks up from where he’s busily drawing all over his computer screen.

“You don’t look so good, Holtzy,” Patty says, getting up. “You’re all green.”

Holtz shrugs out of her rainboot overalls, leaving them in a heap on the floor, backing up under her knees hit the arm of the couch set downstairs for guests. She allows herself to fall backward, and flings an arm over her eyes. The action causes her sunglasses to dig into the bridge of her nose.

“’m just going to stay here, ‘kay?” She mumbles. “Wait for my stomach to stop attempting to murder itself.”

Still, she senses Patty standing over her. She sighs, and lowers her arm. “What can I do for you, Pattycakes?”

Patty has her hands planted on her hips. “Holtzy, should I get Erin? Because you look like you’re about to barf. Did you get food poisoning? I told you not to eat that sandwich you found in the fridge, I have no idea how long it was there.”

Holtz covers her eyes again. “I don’t have food poisoning.”

“The flu, then?”

“I’m not sick. I promise.”

Holtz and Erin had a long talk, after that doctor’s appointment. They had decided to wait until after the eight-week appointment to tell people about the pregnancy; and even then, they’ll only be telling the people closest to them. Abby, Patty, Kevin, Dr. Gorin, and Erin’s mom. Everyone else has to wait until the end of the first trimester, which is totally fine with Holtz. She’s never liked it when people fawn over her, and she has the feeling that the announcement will come with a lot of fawning.

Not telling people has a downside, though, too. It means things like well-meaning friends constantly asking if you’re sick when you leave to vomit, which happens a lot, because Holtz had never noticed before but Kevin is very, very fond of egg salad sandwiches and she cannot handle the smell of egg anything right now. Even scrambled eggs are out, which is disappointing, because she loves scrambled eggs with cheese.

The thought makes her stomach churn, and she has to take a couple of deep breaths. She can feel Patty still watching her, but eventually the other woman sighs.

“Fine. But if you barf, you’d better reach the trashcan, because I’m not cleaning it up.”

“Love you too, Patty!”

-

Erin is in a constant state of panic. There’s a fear that comes with these two weeks, the two weeks between yes-you’re-pregnant and the appointment that will hopefully include someone saying yes-you’re-still-pregnant. Erin’s had a lot of time to herself, lately, what with Holtz sleeping every second she’s not working, which is both a good and a bad thing.

Good: she’s been planning. She’s been planning a lot. Like, a lot a lot. They don’t work the safest job in the world, and there’s the whole costs a lot of money side of pregnancy, and a lot of other things, besides.

Bad: She’s been learning a lot about pregnancy, and what could go wrong. And it makes her so scared. She knows she shouldn’t be doing this to herself, but she can’t help it. She keeps the things she finds out a secret from Holtz, which makes her feel guilty, but once you reach eight weeks you risk of miscarriage goes down from 20% to 10%, and at ten weeks it goes down to 3%. She doesn’t want to worry Holtz.

And she knows Holtz is worried. She’s being _cautious_. She doesn’t leap headfirst into busts, guns blazing, delightedly yelling insults at any ghosts she may see. She hangs back, often with Erin, and sometimes Erin sees her snake her arm over her stomach, as if she’s protecting it.

Erin chews on her lip, tapping the end of her pen absently against the palm of her hand. She’s been staring at the same equation on her whiteboards for about ten minutes, too distracted to continue solving it. She hears footsteps coming up the stairs, and she turns, expecting it to be Holtz, but instead it’s Abby.

And she looks serious.

“A bust?” Erin asks, already setting her dry-erase marker down, but Abby shakes her head.

“Erin, is Holtz okay?”

“What?” Erin blinks, slightly taken aback. “Yeah, she’s fine.” _She’s pregnant_ , her brain screams, but she isn’t going to say that.

“Because she just threw up downstairs, and she’s been doing that a lot lately. She doesn’t look too good, Er. She’s really pale.”

Damn Kevin and his egg salad sandwiches. Erin makes a mental note to ask him to stop bringing them to work (or, at least, to not eat them in front of Holtz). But Abby is still staring at her, still looking concerned, and Erin has never been good at keeping secrets, especially such big, monstrous ones like this, and she scrambles for an excuse. Any excuse.

“The doctor gave her some new fertility medications that are really messing with her system,” Erin blurts, and is relieved to find that it actually makes sense. Sometimes her excuses are very, very clearly lies, but this one…well, it could be true and Abby has no way of proving it wrong.

Abby only looks more concerned. “And she’s still taking them?”

“She says she has a good feeling about them.”

Abby shakes her head, sighing. “Okay. That’s good, I guess.” She gives Erin a shrewd smile. “You sure she’s not pregnant already?”

“Nope!” Erin blurts, probably way too fast. “Nope, no baby in there yet.” She laughs, nervously, and drops her marker. It hits the ground with a clatter and Erin can feel her cheeks starting to burn, so she lunges for the marker before Abby can see her flush.

“Okay,” Abby says, sounding unconvinced.

Erin doesn’t look up until she hears Abby head down the stairs, and she sits down with a groan. Four more days until the eight-week appointment. She needs to last four more days.

-

“Something’s up,” Abby says, all but slamming a cup of coffee down in front of Patty. Patty looks up, raising her eyebrows. Abby flops into the chair in front of Patty’s desk, the other woman watching her with an air of casual disinterest.

“Something’s up with what?” Patty asks, calmly, flipping the page of her book.

“Holtzmann,” Abby says instantly. “And Erin, too.”

Patty arches an eyebrow. “And you don’t know why?”

“Holtz is already pregnant and they’re hiding it from us.”

Patty smirks. “I can’t believe it took you this long to figure out. Holtzy’s been acting weird for the last two weeks.”

“Why would they not tell us, though?” Abby asks. There are the tiniest hints of hurt in her voice, which Patty picks up on.

“Because early pregnancy is kind of unpredictable,” she says, shrugging.

Abby groans, pushing her head into her hands. “I just want to talk to them about it! This is a big deal, and I feel like I might explode if I don’t say something.” She looks up at Patty, wild-eyed.

“I’m horrible at secrets, Patty! You know this! I feel like I’ll see Holtz and just blurt out ‘pregnant!’.”

Patty reaches over the desk and grabs Abby’s shoulder. “Y’all better not do that. Erin and Holtz have to leave work early for an appointment on Friday. I’d bet you anything it’s the eight-week appointment. I’m pretty sure they’ll tell us after that.” She gives Abby a glare so fierce that she looks shocked. “Don’t spoil this for them, okay?”

Abby nods.

“And if you do, I’m pretty sure Erin would murder you.”

“What? No, she wouldn’t.”

“Are you kidding? Did you hear her come downstairs to yell at Kevin earlier? That girl has some hidden anger issues.”

-

“So,” Holtz says conversationally, “I constantly have to pee. Like, all the time. Is that normal?”

Dr. Ramirez looks over the top of her glasses. “Yes.”

“I thought that didn’t happen until your baby is…y’know… actually bigger than a grain of rice and treating your bladder as its own personal soccer ball.”

Dr. Ramirez laughs. “I’m afraid not. Frequent urination is actually a very common symptom in the initial stages of pregnancy. And your baby is currently the size of a gummy bear, not a grain of rice. They tend to kick into high-gear, growth wise, especially around eight weeks.”

Erin glances up. She’s sitting in the chair next to the examination table, a notebook open on her lap. There are smudges of ink across her right hand, where her fingers dragged through the undried ink.

“Really?” Her voice sounds odd…almost strangled. Holtz shoots her a look, concerned, but Erin’s eyes are wide and her expression is full of disbelief.

Holtz reaches over to her wife, and Erin grasps at her hand, tightly, tightly, and asks a thousand questions, writing down the thousand answers. And Dr. Ramirez is kind and helpful and she laughs at Holtz, but not _at_ her, and doesn’t seem to be put off by the fact that she wears her sunglasses throughout the entire visit.

They leave the clinic into the balmy heat of late summer, and Holtz tugs Erin’s hand to get her attention.

“Hey, Er?”

“Yeah?” Erin isn’t quite paying full attention; she’s flipping through the tiny notebook as they wait for the cab, chewing on the end of her pen.

“I want to tell Abby and Patty right now.” She’s been burning to tell them for weeks, now, and she doesn’t think she can wait until the next morning.

Erin blinks for a second, then nods. She checks the time on her phone. “It’s only six. Patty and Abby might still be at the firehouse. Do you want to check on the way home?”

Holtz nods. There are butterflies rising in her stomach, a nervous sort of expectation. “Let’s go.”

-

Abby hugs Holtz so tightly that it squeezes the breath from her lungs. She gently untangles herself from Abby’s arms, patting her on the shoulder. “Hey, hey. Don’t hurt the parasite.”

Abby groans, even as she laughs. “You sure make the miracle of life giving sound beautiful.”

Patty, on the other, takes a somewhat less squeeze-the-tiny-pregnant-woman-until-she-pops approach. She grins so widely that it looks like her face is going to crack, and she hugs Erin and Holtz at the same time.

“Congratulations, y’all. I had no idea you were already pregnant, Holtzy!”

“Yep! Holtzmann is knocked up,” Holtz says happily, making a sharp gesture with both hands at her lower stomach. She totally misses the knowing look that Abby and Patty shoot over her head.

-

Next on the list; Dr. Gorin and Erin’s mom. Erin sits cross-legged on their bed, the phone ringing in her hand. Holtz is half in her lap, half hanging off the edge of her bed. She rubs her face against Erin’s leg like a cat.

“Your pajamas are soft. I’m gonna steal them.”

“They’re flannel.”

“What?”

“That’s why they’re soft. And you’re not going to steal them. You’ve already stolen one of my shirts.”

It’s true. Holtz is wearing Erin’s oldest, rattiest Colombia University tee, the one that’s about three sizes too big for her, and is absolutely monstrous on Holtz. And she’s wearing that, and no pants. It’s awfully hard for Erin not to get distracted, because Holtz is 99% leg, and she has very, very nice legs. Plus, Erin just tends to get distracted however Holtz is involved.

She’s actually considering hanging up and trying again, later, after a few… _R-rated_ activities, when the person on the other side of the phone picks up.

“Dr. Gilbert?” The voice is crisp and cool, slightly muffled, and Erin fumbles with the phone to turn on the speaker. “Did Jillian blow up her phone again?”

“Geez. Do that once and you get blacklisted for life.” Holtz sits up, leaning against Erin’s shoulder. “Hi, Becca!”

“Jillian.” Dr. Gorin’s voice adopts the tiniest hints of warmth. “Is something wrong?”

“We have news,” Holtz says, beaming. “Guess what that news is.”

There’s a long silence on the other end of the phone, but Holtz doesn’t seem to be put off by it. Her grin only gets wider. Eventually, she breaks and crows “I’m pregnant!”

“Oh,” Dr. Gorin says, somewhat hesitantly. “I suppose a congratulations is in order.” There’s another long, awkward silence, and Erin shifts, uncomfortably. Holtz doesn’t seem to notice or care.

Finally, Dr. Gorin says, “Take care of yourself, Jillian. I will come and see you the next time I am in New York. Goodbye, Jillian. Dr. Gilbert.”

There’s the soft click of the phone being hung up, and Erin glances down at her wife. “She’s a warm person.”

Holtz shrugs. “From her, that was basically a declaration of love.”

The call to Erin’s mom goes a bit more traditionally. Shannon Gilbert appears on the phone screen, looking happy but mildly confused as she greets them.

“Erin, Holtz, how are you?”

“We are wonderful, tip-top,” Holtz says, in a strange, mutated British accent. Erin smiles at her, glancing toward the engineer out of the corner of her eye.

“Mom, we have some news,” Erin says, happy butterflies in her stomach.

“Good news?” Shannon asks, her face blurring as she moves to sit down.

“The best news.”

Holtz sticks her head in front of Erin’s so she can be seen on the screen. “Amazing news. Math news.”

“Math…news?” Shannon asks, confused, and Erin sends a questioning glance at Holtz.

“You know…one plus one equals three kind of news,” Holtz says, looking massively pleased with herself.

It takes a moment, but something clicks in Shannon’s expression, and she leans toward her side of the screen. “Are you…is one of you pregnant?”

Erin laughs, even as she starts to cry, a little bit. “Jillian is. You’re going to be a grandma, Mom.”

“Oh…oh my god.” Now Shannon’s crying, too, which makes Erin cry harder, which makes Holtz laugh under her breath and kiss Erin at the corner of her eye.

The rest of the conversation goes similarly. There’s a lot of crying. Happy tears, of course, but still, there are a lot of them. Erin gives her mom all the medical details, Holtz adds in all of the weird symptoms, and Shannon tells stories about when she was pregnant with Erin.

It’s almost eleven when the conversation ends, and Erin is exhausted. She tosses the phone in the general direction of the nightstand and flops back onto the pillows. Holtz curls up next to her, tucking her head into the space between Erin’s neck and her shoulder.

“Your mom is happy,” She says, her voice muffled.

“Yeah,” Erin says, wrapping an arm around Holtz’s shoulders. “She always wanted more than one kid, but my dad didn’t. I don’t think he even wanted one kid, honestly. But they were young when Mom got pregnant, and she’s a super passive person and she never really fought for it, y’know? So she’s excited that there will be another baby. She loves babies.”  
“And our baby will be the best baby ever.”

“It will be.” Erin kisses the top of Holtz’s head. “The greatest baby in the world.”

-

Later that week, Erin comes up to the third floor. At first, she doesn’t think anyone else is up there, and she hums softly as she flips on the switch for the electric kettle. At least, until the piles of blankets on the couch moves.

“Holtz?” Erin creeps closer, and the engineer appears from under the pile. She smiles, stretching out an arm.

“Join me,” She says seductively. Erin smiles and takes her hand, but she doesn’t let Holtz pull her onto the couch.

“It’s like sixty degrees,” Erin says, wincing at the thought of being under the pile of blankets. Holtz grimaces.

“I’m cold. Even the lab felt too cold.”

Erin perches at the edge of the couch. “The baby book says it’s because of your new hormones. A lot of women get really overheated, but some feel cold all the time.”

Holtz wiggles back under the blankets until Erin can only see her eyes. “Lovely.”

Erin notices something, and moves the blankets aside just enough to see under them. “Are you…wearing my hoodie? Over your blazer?”

Holtz raises an eyebrow. “It was my hoodie, first.”

It was; Holtz had let Erin borrow her MIT hoodie right when they first met, after Erin got slimed by the electrocuted ghost down in the subway, and Erin had just never given it back. It’s been years, now, and Erin’s now really the only one that wears it.

“It smells like you,” Holtz says, yanking the blanket out of Erin’s hand and wrapping it back around herself. “Also, it was in your locker. I was trying to find those old heating packets you keep around for busts in the winter.”

Erin nods, and pats Holtz on what she thinks is her hip, and stands up. “I have work to finish. I’ll come and check on you in a little bit, okay?”

“Okay.”

Erin kisses the one bit of Holtz’s skin she can sees (the very top of her forehead, right below her hairline), and stands up.

She’s almost to the stairs when she looks back. Holtz is back completely below the blankets, a lump curled on the couch. Erin smiles, because God, her wife is _cute_ , and starts down the stairs.

-

Every Friday, Erin and Patty have a library date. Two hours set aside every Friday where they can go to the public library and just look at books. Sometimes Abby and Holtz come with them, but most of the time they stay at the firehouse and return to old habits, from when it was just the two of them in a lab, alone.

The librarians recognize them, now, and not just because of the whole Ghostbusters thing. Patty pauses to talk to them about new arrivals, but Erin wanders off.

Patty finds her an hour and a half later, surrounded by piles of pregnancy books. She stares down at the physicist, who’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, frantically flipping through a book big enough to act as a doorstop.

“Erin, baby…”

Erin knows she probably looks mildly crazy, but she doesn’t look up from her book. “Did you know that pregnant women shouldn’t eat soft cheeses because they make contain listeria? And Listeria can cause miscarriages. Also, raw sprouts of any kind because the bacteria can get into the sprouts and are almost impossible to wash out.” Erin can feel the edges of panic flickering around the corners of her brain, and she gestures wildly to another open book at her side. “And this book says that if you live in a large city you should probably shouldn’t be outside for long amounts of time, because of the pollution. And this one…”

“Erin.” Patty cuts her off. “You’re freaking yourself out.”

Erin groans, dropping her head into her hands. “I know. I can’t stop.”

Patty sits down next to her, leaning back against the bookshelf. She picks up a book off the stack, flipping through the first couple of pages. Her eyebrows raise. “Erin, this was published in 1997.”

“But it has information that the others don’t!”

“Probably because it’s extremely outdated!” Patty reaches over and scoops a book out of Erin’s hands, ignoring her protests. “Girl, I’m calling an intervention.” She begins stacking the books, looking around for a library cart. “Does Holtz know you’re doing this to yourself?”

“No,” Erin says, miserably. She clutches a book to her chest, but reluctantly relinquishes it to Patty when she gives her a pointed look. “I don’t want to worry her.”

“You’re going to kill yourself, Erin.” Patty piles the books on the cart and helps Erin to her feet. “I mean, I’m not one to tell someone to stop doing research, but Erin, you should stop doing research. You’re just freaking yourself out.”

Erin sighs and rubs at her forehead. She can feel the telltale throb of a growing headache behind her eyes, and she prays it doesn’t turn into a migraine. “But…”

Patty wraps a hand around Erin’s elbow and starts steering her toward the check-out desk. “You have a doctor’s appointment in a week, right?” At Erin’s nod, she shrugs. “Ask your doctor what books she recommends, and stick to those. Don’t keep doing this “all information is valuable information” shit. It’ll just serve to make your paranoid.”

“You’re right.” Erin watches as Patty swipes her small pile of nonfiction books under the scanner. She checks her watch. “We still have half an hour before we need to get back. Are you sure you don’t want to stay?”

Patty shakes her head. “Nah. There’s a coffee shop down the street, let’s go there. Girl, you look like you need some caffeine.”

Erin doesn’t argue. Patty’s right.

-

When they get back to the firehouse, they’re greeted by Abby and Holtz, both trying and failing to hide massive grins. Holtz swoops forward to wrap an arm around Erin’s waist, pressing a kiss to her temple. She’s wearing her goggles. Abby’s in her jumpsuit.

“Did y’all go on a bust?” Patty asks, suspiciously, and Erin sends a panicked look at Holtz.

“Nah,” Holtz says. “But I’ve got some things newly out of the oven, if you’ll follow me.”

She doesn’t let go of Erin, so she lets herself be tugged along. Holtz throws open the door to the garage, and Erin studies the Ecto-1, looking for anything different. The hearse looks the same as always, but Holtz doesn’t lead them to the outside of the car. Instead, she throws open the back door.

“Get in,” she says, and Erin crawls inside. Holtz reaches out and drags a protesting Patty inside, too. Abby has vanished, but Holtz either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

“Okay, you know how last week we had the talk about how I probably shouldn’t be going on busts anymore?”

Erin nods.

“And also how we didn’t want me to be stuck in the firehouse for the next 7-ish months?”

Erin nods again.

“And, finally, do you remember how a few months ago we got sent those tiny cameras in hopes that we would start live-streaming out busts?”

“Get to the point, Holtzy,” Patty says, only half-impatiently.

“Weeeeeellll, I came up with this beauty.” She whips out a tablet, and with a few taps of her fingers, pulls something up on screen. It takes Erin a minute to realize what she’s looking at, but once she does, her eyes grow wide. It’s Abby’s desk, Abby’s hands, writing something on a piece of paper. She holds the paper up.

DID IT WORK? :)

“I modified the cameras so they contact to this, so I can watch what you guys are doing from the safety of this baby,” Holtz says, patting the black leather seat. “I’m going to attach another up front.”

Abby appears outside the car, grinning. Holtz makes grabby hands at her, and she passes over the tiny camera. It’s about the size of a quarter, and Holtz holds it in the palm of her hand. “4K video, waterproof, slime-proof, and has a range of up to seven miles in case a bust goes really, really wrong. But once the video cuts out at seven miles, there’s still a GPS capability, in case someone gets, I dunno, kidnapped or something. Just clip it to the front of your jumpsuit, turn it on, and you’re good to go. Aaaaannnnndddd…”

Holtz holds up one of their mics. “I’ve updated the mics. They now have a range of twelve miles, plus they can connect to police scanners. Although only connect in emergencies, though, because the police don’t actually know I’ve done this.” She beams, happily, dimples flashing.

Patty whistles. “Damn, Holtzy. This is some good stuff.”

“I know,” Holtz says cheerfully. “Abby’s idea, but my execution.”

“She did her mad scientist thing,” Abby says, leaning against the car. “Weird light in her eyes and all.”

Holtz blew her a kiss.

-

Apparently, pregnancy is supposed to make women "glow". For the most part, it just makes Holtz constantly hungry while simultaneously wanting to puke her guts up, but yeah, she'll go with glow. It sounds a lot nicer than what's actually happening.

To be fair, she was constantly hungry before she got pregnant, but now there’s the added edition of there being only six or so things she can eat without wanting to puke. Pringles, of course. Milkshakes. The broth from Zu’s wonton soup (she gives the wontons to Abby). Chicken nuggets. A very, very specific brand of pizza bites. And, bizarrely, almond butter. She can’t do peanut butter, but she can do almond butter. She eats it by the spoonful, directly out of the container.

She knows she worries Erin. The physicist had taken to stirring protein powder into every single thing she could in a desperate attempt to make sure that Holtz didn’t just collapse from malnutrition. Every once and a while, she’ll eat a couple of soda crackers or a piece of dry toast, but, in her mind, those don’t really count as _food_. She doesn’t enjoy eating them. They don’t fill her up. They just help settle her stomach enough that she can eat one of the six actual foods that her body decided was okay.

Like now. Erin appears in the locker room of the firehouse, handing Holtz a can of ginger ale without a word. She slides down the wall to sit next to her wife, a package of saltines in her hand. Holtz takes a sip from the soda can, bubbles tickling her sinuses. She wrinkles her nose.

“I thought you were upstairs?” Holtz croaks, throat still burning from dry heaving once there was nothing left in her already mostly empty stomach.

“Patty came and got me,” Erin says, opening the package of crackers, the plastic crinkling loudly. She hands one to Holtz, who nibbles off the corner, leaning her head back against the wall.

“Well, this is romantic,” she mutters, gesturing at the scenery around them. Tile floor, shower stalls, benches, toilet with the lid propped open. “Bet you’re happy you knocked me up now.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Shhh, it’s totally how it works.” Holtz curls up against Erin, leaning her head against her shoulder, and tucking her hand into Erin’s. She wraps her free arm around her stomach; an unconscious gesture, now, one she’s in the habit of making.

She knows that the other’s notice it, and knows the way they notice that it’s not the typical, palm pressed gently against her stomach sort of hold. It’s an arm wrapped in front, a physical barrier, a show of protection. Erin notices her doing it now, and squeezes her hand tighter.

“It’ll be okay, Jillian.”

“But what if it’s not?” Holtz squishes herself closer to Erin. “My mom had four miscarriages between my sister and I, and two of them were after eight weeks. What if something else goes wrong? I know this appointment is for all the genetic testing…what if something shows up on them?” She chokes, a little bit, and swallows hard. “I can’t even keep plants alive. How am I supposed to keep something inside me alive?”

Erin kisses her head. “Hey. Plants are different, you know that. You either forget to water them or you give them too much water. You can’t do that with something inside you, it just kind of…gets what it needs.”

“It feeds off my nutrients,” Holtz says dramatically. “A leech implanted in my uterus.”

Erin rolls her eyes. “You need to stop referring to it as a parasite. You’re freaking Patty out a little bit.”

“I say it in love. It’s the best sort of parasite anyone could have.”

“I know.” Erin kisses her again, and gets to her feet, holding out her hand. She pulls Holtz to her feet, and it takes Holtz a couple of seconds before she can stand steadily. Her knees are still a bit shaky, and, really, she can walk fine, but she takes any excuse she can get to lean against Erin, so she does.

She still can’t over the fact that Erin not only allows her physical contact, but she enjoys it. She reaches out for it. She wraps her arm around Holtz and pulls her close, and Holtz feels a flood of warmth, and she stretches up to kiss Erin’s cheek.

“Hey, Er, I love you.”

“I love you too, Jillian.”

-

Erin barely stops talking the entire doctor’s appointment. She asks about nutrition and exercise and sleep, she writes everything down in her notebook, and she asks for pregnancy book recommendations.

Dr. Ramirez recommends four, and Erin feverishly jots the titles and author down.

(Later, while they’re waiting for Abby to pick them up, Holtz sees Erin order all four).

There’s no need to strip down for this appointment, and that makes Holtz extremely thankful. Instead, a vile of blood is drawn and Holtz is instructed to lie back and roll up her shirt. A clear, blue gel is spread on the bar skin of her stomach. It’s cold and slick and deeply unpleasant. It reminds Holtz of ectoplasm, and Erin smiles a little bit at the look of disgust on Holtz’s face.

For a while, they’re silent, until Dr. Ramirez says, “Everything looks good, Dr. Holtzmann. Of course, the blood test results will tell us more, but I see no problems. But, before you go…” She does something, quickly, and suddenly a sound fills the room.

Rapid, soft fluttering thuds, and Holtz knows instantly, instinctively what it is. A heartbeat. Her baby’s heartbeat.

She can’t help it. She cries. Erin cries, too, and it strikes Holtz how odd it is, for them to be here, in this doctor’s office, both absolutely bawling because of a tiny, tiny sound. Dr. Ramirez smiles at them.

“It never stops being incredible,” she says, pulling the wand away from Holtz’s stomach and handing her a wad of paper towels to wipe the gel of her skin.

Holtz wipes her eyes, beaming.

Erin doesn’t stop crying for another five minutes.

-

They wait in the lobby of the building, between the offices of a dentist and a dietitian. Abby’s picking them up on her way back from a meeting with a possible sponsor. Erin’s phone dings, and she fishes it from her bag, frowning at it. Holtz stretches to read the words.

“I’m here, come quickly?” She reads aloud, frowning. “That seems…odd.”

“Maybe she’s in a rush,” Erin says, but there’s also a trace of confusion in her voice.

But, the minute Holtz pushes the door open, she knows why Abby sent that text. The amount of reports outside probably isn’t that many, but they’re in her face all at once, and it seems like there are hundreds of them. Behind her, Erin gasps, and Holtz fumbles blindly for her hand. They’re all yelling questions, and Holtz can’t hear what they’re asking but she can tell whatever it is isn’t good.

They’re almost to the safety of the car (a mini-van Holtz bought for more it’s more…inconspicuous nature, as compared to the Ecto-1), Abby waving frantically at them, when a reporter manages to corner Holtz, her hand ripped from Erin’s. She’s not panicking, not yet, but she’s worried and nervous and she’s trying to still fight her way to the van.

“Dr. Holtzmann!” He shouts, jabbing a recorder toward her face. “Tell me! Between you and Dr. Gilbert, who is pregnant?”

And the panic rushes in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have officially DESTROYED my Camp NaNoWriMo goal. I decided I was going to write fanfiction because I'm currently in a bit of rut, non-fanfic wise, and I set my goal low: 20k. I'm at 38k and counting. It's awesome. April isn't even over yet. 
> 
> I'll try to get the next chapter up a bit faster, this time; last week was crazy and hectic and I didn't even really get a weekend, but I'm thinking this week I'll have a bit more free time.


	3. Second Trimester

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been turbo-writing this 'fic and it's fantastic, if I do say so myself, because it's getting me out of my writing rut. Quality of the writing? I have no idea, because I'm awful with judging my own writing. 
> 
> But number of words? Absolutely fantastic.

There are people everywhere. Crowded outside the firehouse, clustered in the doorway of their apartment, following them down the street. Cameras flash, recorders are jabbed at faces, and there are just so many people. So many people who are invading their lives.

Erin is in a state of constant anxiety, because yes, she loves that there are people who respect their science, who are excited about what they do, but she could live without the media. She can barely leave to get coffee without a hoard of people surrounding her, and she’s had three panic attacks in the past week, which means they’re on the rise again.

But Holtz is even worse. She barely leaves the firehouse, and when she does, it’s creeping out the back door and down the alley, or through the garage, hiding herself from the prying eyes as best she can. They all do their best to make sure she can do this; Erin takes the brunt of the cameras for her, Abby and Patty act as physical shields.

But it’s Kevin who’s the lifesaver. He can elbow through the crowds with ease, Holtz tucked under his arm, and deposit her in a cab or the mini-van in through the doors about ten times faster than the others.

Holtz wears her sunglasses just about constantly. Erin knows she wears them because they help ground her; a filter to the world that she can activate as easily as slipping them down her nose. But, sometimes, even they don’t help, and Holtz will all but crumple as soon as she’s in the firehouse and away from the cameras.

Erin knows why it is. Abby and Patty and Kevin don’t, yet, because Holtz hasn’t talked about it, but Erin’s noticed.

She’s started showing. Not much, barely any at all; there’s just a gentle curve where there didn’t used to be one. Erin probably wouldn’t have even noticed if she wasn’t on high alert and paying constant attention to Holtz, to make sure she’s not losing too much weight because of the morning sickness. Erin knows it makes Holtz feel vulnerable, and she knows she hates to feel vulnerable. And these people, these _strangers_ , have ripped the privacy from their lives, and by doing that, they have torn apart the should haves.

The fact that the pregnancy is actually visible, It should have been amazing, it should have been something to exclaim over, to show off, to talk about. But these people have ripped the excitement from them, because now, if others know, that Holtz is the one pregnant, the whole world knows. And Erin knows that Holtz can’t handle the entire world knowing yet.

But it does. All too fast.

Of course, it happens on one of the rare days were there are so few people that Holtzmann actually feels comfortable leaving the firehouse, so she and Patty walk the few blocks to a deli, because Holtz’s list of foods that don’t make her puke has grown, slightly, in the last week and a half. And it includes a very specific sandwich from a very specific deli, and now that she’s discovered it she wants it all the time. Erin and Abby are working on an equation, drowning exhaustion under cups of coffee and bowls of ramen (Abby’s made more than one remark about their college thesis).

They hear the commotion outside just as they’re finishing up. They’ve propped the window open, and through it floats the shouts of paparazzi, the angry shouts of Patty and Kevin, and Erin’s stomach plunges. She flies down the stairs, throws open the doors, and surges through the crowd of people. She spots Holtzmann instantly. She’s braced herself against the wall, one hand out and splayed against the brick, the other wrapped around her stomach, eyes tightly closed. Patty and Kevin are a wall in front of her, both shoving the people back.

“Jillian!” Erin pushes through the crowd, Kevin and Patty parting to let her through, and wraps her arm around her wife. She’s shaking, trembling, and she all but collapses into Erin, her eyes still closed.

“They know,” She whispers, her free hand fisting in Erin’s hoodie. “They know, they somehow know.”

They hug the wall as they get back inside the firehouse, Abby reaching out to pull them side. Erin and Holtz collapse on the couch, Patty and Kevin squeezing through a minute later. But Abby, apparently, isn’t done.

“HEY, ASSHOLES,” She screams out the door, “If you all are not gone within the next THREE MINUTES, I will come out there and I will SKIN YOU ALIVE. DO YOU HEAR ME!”

“Abby, hey, Abby!” Patty grabs at Abby, physically pulling her backwards.

“THREE MINUTES,” Abby screams again, and flips them off with both hands (The picture is in the tabloids a few days later, which the caption “Unladylike Behavior”. When Patty sees it, she laughs so hard she cries, and frames it). Then, she turns to Erin and Holtz, on the couch. Holtz is pressed so close to Erin she’s practically in her lap, sides heaving with rapid, shallow breaths.

“Hey, Jillian?” Erin says softly, rubbing her wife’s back. “Just breath, okay? Deep breaths.”

Holtz makes a strange choking sound, somewhere between a gasp and a sob. “They know.”

“What?”

“They know. They know it’s me,” Holtz chokes out. “One of them…one of them asked Patty if…if she thought that I was too reckless to…to…” She chokes, again, and Erin hugs her.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to talk.” She looks questionably up at Patty, who’s flushed and angry, her fists curled.

“One of the assholes asked me if I thought Holtzy was too reckless to carry a baby,” she says, fuming. “I swear, if you had waited another three seconds, I would have killed him. Y’all would have had to drag me off his bleeding body.”

Abby snarls, low in her throat, looking like she’s about to go charging out the door again, but Kevin lays a hand on her arm.

“It won’t do any good if you go out there, Abby,” he says, and Abby shrugs his hand off her arm, but she lets out a gusty breath.

“You’re right, Kev.”

“I am?” Kevin looks pleasantly surprised. “I thought that would make you rush back outside.”

Abby just stares at him.

Slowly, Jillian stops shaking, and Erin manages to get her upstairs. She curls up on the couch like a cat, and Erin wraps her in the oldest, softest blanket in the firehouse. She leaves her upstairs with Patty, who sits down next to her, rubbing her back.

It’s a physical pain in Erin’s chest, to leave her wife upstairs, curled on the couch, so Erin walks down the stairs as fast as possible without running or falling.

“Abby?” She calls, softly, casting her gaze around the room. Abby pops up from behind her desk. She looks like she’s been crying. She wipes at her eyes.

“I’ve…I’ve called the police. They just got here and they’ve kind of…y’know…funneled people away.”

“Thanks,” Erin whispers. “It’s what I came down here to do.”

And Abby bursts into tears. Erin goes for her, but Abby fends her off. “I shouldn’t be crying. Nothing happened to me.”

Erin suddenly feels tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, and she chokes out, “But nothing happened to me, either,” and now she’s crying.

Abby hugs her, so tightly Erin can feel her ribs crack, and that just makes her cry harder.

“I’m terrified,” she confesses, pulling away from Abby. “I’m terrified, and Holtz pretends she isn’t but she’s terrified, too, and now there are paparazzi and there are so many doctors, Abby.”

“Holtz hates doctors,” Abby says, softly, and Erin nods.

“I can’t help but feel awful for putting her through this. It was supposed to be me who dealt with this.” She slides down the wall, wrapping her arms around her knees. “I was supposed to be the pregnant one and Holtz was supposed to be the supportive partner, and that would have been amazing. But I don’t know how to be a supportive partner because I’m constantly thinking of all the things that could go wrong, and I’m not sure Holtz knows how to be pregnant.”

The words make her choke on her guilt, a physical sensation in her throat, blocking off her airway. She wheezes, tears streaming down her face, and uses her sleeve to uselessly wipe them away.

Abby slides into place next to her, placing an arm around Erin’s shoulders.

“I hate seeing her like this, Abby,” Erin whispers. “So…not confident.”

Erin can tell without seeing that Abby just shrugged, can feel the movement against her arm. “I think maybe that means you need to be confident enough for the both of you.”

“I don’t know if I can do that. I just…I don’t know.”

Abby takes a deep breath, and wipes her eyes. She stands up, and hauls Erin to her feet, as well. “You can, Erin. Pull that…infuriatingly overconfident, stubborn, badass Erin from inside you. I know you have it in you, I’ve seen it. Come on, Ghost Girl.”

Erin takes a deep breath, plants her feet, and exhales.

Confident. She can do confident.

Or, at least, she can pretend.

-

Holtz faceplants into the fourteenth week of pregnancy with all the gracefulness of a…well, pregnant woman. The morning sickness has finally faded, and while food doesn’t still have a draw to her, she no pukes every time she tries to force a food not on her approved list past her lips.

That makes her feel better; not a whole lot, because there are still people and questions and _watching_ , but if you don’t feel awful all the time, sometimes things start looking up, a little bit.

Plus, there’s the added benefit of how hot her wife is.

Erin’s always been hot, of course, but since the last fourteen weeks Holtz has pretty much been cycling through sleep-puke-work-sleep-repeat, and she hasn’t really been paying attention to it as much as she normally would. But now…

She corners Erin against her whiteboards, sliding her hands around her hips.

“Hello, Er.”

“Uh…hi?” Erin says, looking slightly startled at the sudden proximity. Holtz smirks.

“You smell really good,” she says, stepping even closer. Erin’s shoulder hits the whiteboard.

“Thank you?”

“I mean, you always smell good, but right now you smell really good.” And she does. Like vanilla and coffee and shampoo.

“What are you doing, Holtz? Oh…oooh.”

Holtz makes a movement with her hips against Erin’s, crashing her lips against hers. For a minute, Erin is too stunned to do anything, but then she’s kissing back, one hand wrapping around Holtz’s waist, the other coming up to cup the back of her neck. After a few seconds (or minutes, Holtz can’t really tell) Erin pulls away, panting.

“Jillian, we’re at work,” she hisses, even as she makes a little gasp as Holtz kisses a trail down her jawline, down her neck.

“So?”

“So, Patty would kill us.”

Holtz raises an eyebrow, grabbing Erin’s hand. “So let’s not let her find out.”

-

They’re lying on the cot that used to be Holtzmann’s, panting, cheeks flushed. They’ve had sex in the firehouse before, of course they have, but never with Patty and Abby around, and never so _desperately_. Holtz had a _wildness_ about her, fumbling with Erin’s pants the minute they got into the tiny bedroom, slipping her hand below hem.

And when Erin returned the favor, she had gasped at the _heat_ she found.

Now, she sits up, tugging fingers through her hair, wincing when they catch in the snarls. Holtz is flat on her back next to her, but she sits up, propping herself up on her elbows when Erin starts rebuttoning her shirt.

“Noooo,” she groans, reaching for Erin’s hand. Erin smiles, but slips out of bed, picking her hastily discarded jeans off the floor.

“Sorry, but Abby and Patty are going to notice we’re missing, soon.”

Holtz rolls onto her side, watching as Erin wiggles into her jeans. “Are you sure you don’t want to go another round?”

Faster than lightening, Holtz shoots forward, grabbing Erin by her hips and pulling her back onto the bed. Erin bounces, the bed creaking loudly, and Holtz straddles her hips.

“Jillian…”

“What, did I tire you out?” Holtz leans down, kissing Erin’s lips, them peppering a trail of fluttery kisses across her jaw. “Not ready for round two?”

“Jillian,” Erin says, even though she can’t help but gasp when Holtz takes her earlobe between her teeth, nipping gently. A hand slides up under Erin’s shirt, and though it kills her to do so, she gently pushes it away. Holtz sighs, and flops off Erin, landing on her back next to her.

They spend a few minutes in silence, but that doesn’t mean that Erin’s brain stops whirring, and she speaks up a few moments later.

“It’s because of the increased blood flow.”

“What is?”

“That.” Erin makes a vague gesture in the air. “Increased sexual drive.”

Holtz turns on her side, raising an eyebrow at Erin. Erin explains.

“It’s why you’re cold all the time, too. Increased hormones and increased blood flow. Blood that goes to the baby, and also to…y’know, other places.”

Holtz grins, reaching out to prod Erin in the ribs. “So this will be a common occurrence?”

“In our own home!” Erin says, flapping her hands at Holtz.

Holtz grins and sits up, stretching like a cat. Her spine makes a series of pops as she does, and the edge of her shirt rides up, over her stomach. Erin’s gaze is drawn to the line of skin, but not for the usual reason.

Holtz notices. Of course she does. She tugs at the end of her shirt, pulling it back down over her hips, and Erin realizes she can’t remember the last time Holtz wore a crop top.

“Holtz…”

Holtz slides out of bed, picking her overalls up off the floor. She slips into them, silently, and Erin sits up.

“Jillian.”

“It’s so stupid, Er,” Jillian says, so quietly. “I’m happy, but at the same time I’m trying so hard to hide it.” She sits back on the bed, wrapping her arms around her stomach. She looks at Erin, and as she does, Erin notices how _young_ she looks. She forgets, sometimes, that there’s a ten-year gap between her and Erin, and how Jillian may pretend to be untouchable, but she’s not.

Erin scoots closer. “It’s okay to not want the news of your pregnancy posted all over the internet. No one wants that. No one wants cameras in their face at all moments of the day, let alone when you’re going through something as intimate as pregnancy.”

Jillian looks down at her stomach. “I didn’t think it would be like this. In my mind, I guess it seemed more…intangible, I guess? But I’m aware, at every moment of every day, that I have something inside me and it’s terrifying, Erin. I’m terrified I’ll do something wrong and everything will just be _over_.”

Erin wraps her arms around Holtz, kissing her forehead. “I know, Jill. I know. It’s okay to be scared.”

Holtz takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I think…I think I’m going to be fine. Let’s get it over with, though, okay? So I can stop…obsessing over it.”

“Do you mean telling people?”

“Yeah.” Erin watches as her wife exhales, softly. “Let’s tell the media.”

-

It goes about as awkwardly and awfully as you’d expect. Their publicity person had arranged a brief interview, and some of the questions were so personal they made Holtzmann look to Erin in panic, and, at one point, she has to actually resist punching the interviewer when she asks if Holtz is planning for a natural delivery (Because why is it any of her business?) but then it’s over, and they can go back to a somewhat normal life.

And, a somewhat normal life now includes Holtz sitting in the front seat of the Ecto-1, watching as the other three Ghostbusters creep through a manor house on her video cameras.

“The eagle has landed, I repeat, the eagle has landed.”

_“Holtzy, I have no idea what that means.”_

Patty’s voice comes filtering through the com in Holtz’s ear, and the engineer grins, kicking her feet up onto the dashboard. “I was just trying to add some excitement.”

_“I think we have enough excitement already,”_ Abby grumbles, and her cam shows her leaning cautiously around the corner.

“This is a reported Class IV haunting,” Holtz says, settling down into business, and her current only job, since she’s been all but quarantined in the hearse. She hooks her sunglasses off of on ear, swiping between the view from Abby’s cam and Patty’s, one eye on the tablet mounted on the dashboard, which connects to Erin’s. “Owner said it looked like man in his forties, wearing a...” Holtz squints at the writing on the notepad she has in her other hand. “…bowling hat?”

_“Kevin was the one who took the call.”_ Erin’s voice crackles through the coms, and even that small amount of contact makes Holtz smile. “I wouldn’t trust that description.”

_“Didn’t y’all unplug his phone?”_

_“I was going to, but none of us wants to answer the phone.”_

“Hey, guys?” Holtz says, leaning forward to squint at the monitor in her hands. “Abby, two o’clock.”

_“Holy shit!”_

The camera blurs, and suddenly, all Holtz can see is flashes of motion and movement, and there’s a lot of yelled insults, the crack of the proton guns, a strange, crackling laugh that Holtz assumes is from the ghost, and Erin’s inevitable sliming. Then there’s the sound of a ghost forced into the containment unit, and everything calms.

_“Why is it always me?”_ Erin moans over the com, and, sure enough, the screen of her camera is streaked with ectoplasm. Holtz can see Erin through Abby’s camera, who reaches up to help her wipe the ectoplasm from her eyes.

_“Mission complete, Holtzy,”_ Patty says, and stretches her arm up high enough so that Holtz can see the smoking containment unit through the camera.

“Well done, Pattycakes,” Holtz crows, and claps her hands. “Was he wearing a bowling hat?”

“No. He was wearing a bowler hat.”

“Ah, that makes more sense.”

_“Nah. Bowler hats are ugly as hell. I would have rather he was wearing a bowling hat.”_

The sound of cars makes Holtz’s head turn, and she watches as news vans speed past. She sinks down into the seat, praying they don’t notice her in the car.

“Hey, guys? Media, coming up. Be prepared.”

Erin’s sigh is loud and gusty, able to be heard through the coms. _“Just what I need; another picture of me dripping with ectoplasm. I was hoping they wouldn’t know.”_

“The media always knows, Er-Bear.”

Erin grumbles, they all do, but Holtz can see their blipping dots on the GPS move toward the entrance. She grins, switching off her com, and gives a small fist pump. Then she clambers over into the driver’s seat to wait.

She settles back into the black leather, humming as she digs around for the bag of marshmallows she knows she has stashed somewhere. And that’s when she feels like.

It’s not a flutter, like the books described it. It’s not a sweeping movement or a solid kick, it’s more…bubbly. A soft thump, like something popped inside her, against her skin on the inside. Her hand moves down to the area, instantly.

She wonders, for a moment, if she imagined it. But then it happens again, in a slightly different place, and it’s unmistakable.

Movement. Tiny movements, barely-there movements, but still.

She just felt her baby _move_.

She doesn’t know how she feels right now; happy, excited, afraid…but it’s still a huge thing, and she looks at her stomach, ever so slightly rounded, just enough so that she can’t wear her pants comfortably anymore. And, for probably the first time in her pregnancy, she lays her hand flat on her stomach, palm pressing in so slightly. There’s another tiny, bubbling movement, and while she can’t feel anything from the outside, it still makes her gasp.

The car door swings open, and Abby slides into the passenger seat. She pushes the tablets aside, and, in doing so, exposes the bag of marshmallows on the seat. Holtz snatches it.

“Some woman have cravings for actual, healthy food,” Abby says, watching as Holtz stuffs two marshmallows in her mouth at once.

“Good for them,” Holtz says, and grins at Abby with a marshmallow in each cheek.

Erin and Patty slide in shortly later. Erin sits on a towel, and pulls a strand of hair, dripping with ectoplasm, away from her face with a look of disgust. Patty looks like she’s trying not to laugh.

“Hey, can you hand me that…Holtz, are you okay?” Erin says, looking in concern at the engineer. “You look kind of pale.”

“Just tired, Er-Bear.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

Holtz shoots her a glance that she hopes says _later_ , and Erin must get the message because she quiets down. It makes Holtz feel guilty, because she knows that it makes Erin worry for the drive, but it feels like it’s such an important thing that Erin deserves to know it first, before everyone.

Their baby just _moved_. It’s no longer a hypothetical thing inside her, it’s real and it’s tangible and it’s there, and it’s impossible to ignore that, now.

When Holtz tells Erin later, Erin cries. It’s a good cry, a happy cry, and when she hugs Holtz, Holtz things she might be crying a little bit, too.

-

The eighteen-week appointment at the doctor’s arrives so quickly that Erin wonders how time flew by that fast. It feels like only a few months ago that the pregnancy test turned out to be positive, and now it’s been almost five months. Almost to the halfway point.

It makes Erin’s head hurt, a little bit.

Dr. Ramirez chats easily with Holtz, answering all her questions, both the normal (“When can Erin feel the baby kicking?” “Typically, between 20 and 24 weeks. It really depends.”) to the slightly unusual (“So…it feels like I can’t completely…y’know, let loose the pee unless I’m bending over my knees. Is that normal?” “Yes.”).

And then, the ultrasound. Holtz winks at Erin as she rolls pushes her overalls down to her hips, rolling up the sweater she was wearing underneath them. Dr. Ramirez smears the clear, blue jelly on Holtzmann’s stomach, and, suddenly, there it is, on the screen.

A baby. An actual baby. It takes Erin a minute to realize what she’s looking at, then Dr. Ramirez points out the nose, the eyes, and Erin can feel her breath catch in her throat. She looks over at Holtz, and she’s captivated, staring at the screen with the same quiet intensity that she looks at her most difficult projects, completely and utterly focused.

Then, Dr. Ramirez smiles. “Do you want to know the sex of the baby?”

Erin and Holtz look at each other. They somehow hadn’t talked about this, and it’s seems like such a massive thing to not talk about that Erin wonders how it never came up. It should have come up. They’ve talked about names, of course, and they’ve talked about needing to find baby clothes and finding a new apartment so they can have an actual nursery and not just a crib in the middle of a bedroom, but they haven’t talked about finding about the sex of the baby.

And so, they just look at each other.

Dr. Ramirez takes this in, and says, “If you want, I can write it down and put it in an envelope. You can either wait, or open it later.”

It’s Holtzmann who nods, slowly. “Okay. We’ll do that.”

“Alright, then.” She switches off the ultrasound machine, and Holtz props herself up on her elbows, taking the cloth Dr. Ramirez hands her to wipe the goop off her skin. Dr. Ramirez types away at a computer for a second, before spinning on her chair to face Holtz and Erin.

“Everything’s looking great. Baby’s fantastic, looking just as it should, and Dr. Holtzmann, you are doing fantastically, as well. Honestly, you two are the prime example of health in pregnancy. Outstanding work, there, Mama.”

Something odd flickers across Holtzmann’s face. Just for a second, barely enough to notice, but Erin does. Then Dr. Ramirez is back and talking again, and she tells them that her receptionist will book their next appointment, and that she’ll also print up photos from the ultrasound, if they want them. Then they’re done, and the next thing Erin knows, they’re walking down to the mini-van they stole from work. Erin’s clutching piles of pamphlets and paperwork, like she always is, although this time she also has several black-and-white photos of an ultrasound.

And Holtz…she cradles the envelope that holds the sex of their baby like it’s a precious thing. She doesn’t slide into the driver’s seat of the mini-van, like she always does. Instead, she sits down in the passenger seat, tucking her legs beneath her, and stares at the powder blue square of paper in her hands.

“Do you want to open it?” Erin asks, hesitantly, and Holtz looks up, eyes wide.

“I don’t know.”

It’s such a relief to hear, because Erin isn’t sure, either. Because, as much as she tries to _not_ , she knows what she hopes the baby will turn out to be. And she kind of thinks Holtz does, too, but she doesn’t know if it’s the same.

Erin reaches out, folds a hand over Holtz’s. “We wait. Open it later, or not at all, and find out the old-fashioned way.”

“I don’t think I’d be able to stand knowing it was in the house,” Holtz says, and holds it out to Erin. “I think we should open it. I think it would kill me, knowing that we could know, and yet not.”

“Okay.” Erin takes a deep breath, and the envelope from Holtz. She uses the red Swiss Army knife attached to her key chain (the same one Holtz gave her, all those years ago) and slices through the seal. With shaking hands, she pulls out the folded piece of paper.

“Ready?” She asks her wife, and Jillian nods, holding her breath.

She unfolds the paper. And reads the single word inside it.

-

When Holtz sees the name on her phone screen, it feels like all the breath is being driven from her lungs. She sits down, hard, her knees buckling beneath her, the faintest traces of anxiety worming their way in at the edges of her subconscious.

Because, suddenly, she is sixteen years old again, leaving her house in the earliest hours of the morning, and seeing her little sister peering out the window, after her.

_Incoming Call: Elsbeth Holtzmann_.

Patty notices the way she gives a little gasp, and rushes over to her instantly. “Holtzmann, baby, is something wrong? Do you need me to get Erin? Call your doctor?”

Holtz shakes her head. “No, it has nothing to do with Fetus.”

Sometime after first feeling the baby kick, she had stopped referring to it as a parasite. She had said the name in jest, but it felt wrong to refer to what was clearly now a tiny human as a parasite. She didn’t really call it baby out loud, yet, and she didn’t have any desire to use some sickly-sweet term of endearment for it, so she called it Fetus. It was what it was, after all, and it had the benefit of being gender-neutral, since Erin and Holtz had decided to keep the sex of the baby a secret until the birth.

However, qualifying with Patty that her problems had nothing to do with pregnancy or child-baring only made the woman look more concerned. Holtzmann concerned with pregnancy, they could deal with now. They knew how to.

A Holtzmann concerned with something else…well, that was new and exciting territory, and not in a good way.

Patty sits down next to Holtz on the couch. “Then what’s wrong?”

Holtz passes over her phone wordlessly, silently. It takes Patty less than two seconds to make the connection.

“Your sister is calling you.”

“Yes.”

“Who you haven’t spoken too since you were sixteen.”

“Yes.”

“After your family pretty much kicked you out since you were gay.”

“Yes.”

“Damn, Holtzy.” Patty looks at the engineer, curled up on the couch. “What are you going to do? Are you going to ignore it?”

“I don’t know. She was never mean to me, like my brothers were, but she wasn’t ever nice, either. And I know she was ten when I last saw her and all, but…why now?”

Patty shrugs. “Maybe she heard the news. It’s kind of all over the place now, Holtzy. Plus, it’s not exactly unnoticeable, anymore.”

Holtz nods, unhappily. She’s gotten used to the idea that other people now see her and know (or assume) she’s pregnant, but it’s still not a comfortable feeling.

A text beeps on her phone. She doesn’t need to look at it to know it’s from Elsbeth.

“Do you want me to read it?” Patty offers, and Holtz nods.

“She wants to know if you two can talk. Apparently, she’s in New York, and wants to see you while she’s here.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Holtz nods. “Okay. I’ll see her. Tell her I’ll get coffee with her tomorrow.”

Patty looks at her in concern. “Are you sure, baby? Because from what I understand, y’all didn’t have the healthiest of relationships.”

Holtz exhales, ballooning her cheeks. “If I don’t, I’ll wonder.”

So, they make a date. The next day, at one, at Holtz’s second favorite bakery. Because if this goes horribly, horribly wrong, she doesn’t want her favorite bakery to be tarnished by the memory.

-

Erin had offered to come with Holtzmann as moral support. She didn’t even have to sit with them, she had said, she could just be there, at another table, in case things got rough. But Holtz turned her down. It was something she had to do by herself.

Although, now, while she sits at a table, a mug of hot chocolate in front of her, she wishes she had Erin beside her. Her stomach cramps with nerves, and Fetus seems to be picking up in her anxiety, because there’s a small flurry of wiggling and kicking, and Holtz lays a hand on her upper stomach, as if to sooth the movements.

“Jillian? Is that you?” The voice is hesitant, soft, and carries the faintest hints of familiarity.

Holtz looks up.

Elsbeth looks…older, which is to be expected, but she also looks so much like Holtz’s mother it makes something in her chest jump in what she thinks may be anger, or fear. She’s wearing a flowy, floral dress, tights, boots, and her hair, blonde a few shades darker than Holtz’s, is long and loose around her shoulders.

She sits down across from Holtz, setting down a cup of coffee and a plate with a muffin on it in front of her. She doesn’t quite meet Holtz’s eyes.

“It’s been a long time,” She says, softly, and Holtz can’t repress a snort.

“Really? I didn’t fucking notice,” she says, sarcasm bleeding into every syllable. Elsbeth flinches, and Holtz feels guilty for the slightest of seconds before pushing the feeling away.

“How…how have you been?” Her sister asks, hesitantly. “Are you…well…” she gives a pointed look at the general direction of Holtzmann’s midsection, and Holtz’s arm wraps around it before she can stop herself.

“Yeah.”

“Are you married?”

“Yes.” She holds up her hand, showing off the rings that adorn her finger.

“Oh. What’s...their name?”

“ _Her_ name is Erin,” Holtz says, pointedly. “Dr. Erin Gilbert.”

“Oh,” Elsbeth says, again, and they lapse into an uncomfortable silence.

It’s Holtz that breaks it. “Why are you here, Elsbeth?”

Elsbeth traces her finger around the edge of the coffee mug. “A lot has happened, Jillian. Adam and Joshua are both married, although neither of them have kids yet. So have I, actually, and I do have kids. Four and two. Both boys. Michael and Lucas.”

Holtzmann leans across the table. “Elsbeth. Why. Are. You. Here.”

There are tears gathering in the corners of Elsbeth’s eyes.

“Dad…he…he was having some problems with his health. And last week Mom came home and found him in the living room. He had a massive heart attack. He probably died before he hit the floor. And…well, his funeral is later this week, and I was kind of hoping…well, that you would come.”

Holtz is unprepared for the wave of anger, white and hot and _burning_ , that rushes through her.

“You don’t speak to me in _twenty years_ , none of you do, and you want me to come back for Dad’s _funeral_?” Holtz spits through clenched teeth, and Elsbeth flinches.

“I thought…”

“You thought what? That I’d be overcome with waves of emotion and come home? To the people who told me every day since I was barely old enough to speak to stop being who I was? To the brothers who turned their back on me, to the Mom who pretended I didn’t exist, to go to a funeral that _celebrates_ the life of a man who was nothing but cruel to me?” She’s seething, and glares fiercely at her sister. “I was _sixteen_. I was sixteen and all I wanted was for something to accept me as I was, but instead they turned their back on me. They never tried to contact me to see if I was okay, they never did _anything_.”

“But…we’re your family,” Elsbeth says, weakly, picking at the corner of her muffin.

“No,” Holtz says, so coldly it’s a miracle that Elsbeth doesn’t freeze where she sits. “My family is Abby and Patty and Kevin. My family is Erin and our future kid. Not Mom and Dad and Adam and Joshua. They won’t turn their backs on me, not like you did. They love me for who I am, which is more than I can say about you.”

A tear drops down the end of Elsbeth’s nose, and it only serves to make Holtz angrier. Elsbeth is the one crying, and she’s the daughter who was accepted, doted on, cared for, _loved_. And Holtz was the one who was cast aside, for daring to be different. For daring to be anything but the default.

She isn’t sure what she’s expecting Elsbeth to say next, but it’s not what she does.

“I should have contacted you, years ago,” Elsbeth says, quietly, not meeting Holtzmann’s eyes. The breath is stolen from Holtz’s lungs, stiffening in surprise.

Elsbeth looks at the ceiling, and there’s the glistening of tears along the edges of her eyes. “As soon as I was old enough to. I knew how.” She finally meets Holtz’s eyes, and shrugs sheepishly. “Don’t look so surprised, Jillian. You were my older sister. Of course I wanted to make sure you were okay. I was following your career from the moment I could.”

“Then why now?” Holtz leans forward. “Why now? Why wait _twenty years_ , Elsie?” She’s still angry, but her voice doesn’t have the heat behind it.

“Because of Dad,” Elsie says. “And Mom, too, but kind of less because of her. Dad could get kind of…intense. And he was so steadfast in his beliefs, which I now see are… _were_ …very extreme. I was scared. I didn’t…I couldn’t…”

“Become the second outcast of the family?” Holtz supplied, coolly, but there’s no fire behind it. She feels the fight pouring out of her. She leans back in her chair, wrapping her arms around her stomach. Elsie exhales, sharp and shuddering, and takes the world’s tiniest bite of her muffin.

The silence is long and stretching and uncomfortable, and it’s Holtz who breaks it.

“Do you…” she hesitates, and knocks her yellow-tinted sunglasses off the top of her head and down her nose. The mellowing of the world gives her courage, she finishes her sentence. “Do you want to come to the firehouse? Meet everyone?”

The look Elsie gives her resembles that of a deer in the headlights, and Holtzmann groans internally, sure she just took this a bit too far, but then Elsie bites her lip, and smiles, tiny and shy.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.” Elsie pushes her plate away. “I’ll…come meet your family.”

-

The walk to the firehouse is awkward and uncomfortable and _long_ , even though it’s only a couple of blocks. There are a couple of reports clustered outside the firehouse, but Holtz flips them off as she flings open the door.

“Hey, boss!” Kevin says cheerfully, waving at her as she comes in. “Hi, Holtzmann’s sister!”

“Kev, how did you know?” Holtz asks, even though she’s sure she doesn’t want to know the answer.

Kevin grins. “You guys look the same.” He accents that comment by shoving at least four pieces of gum into his mouth at the same time. “I’m trying to set the world record for biggest gum bubble.” He says conversationally, and Elsie looks at him, utterly bemused.

“HEY, GUYS!” Holtz bellows, making Elsie gasp and jump. “GET DOWN HERE.”

The sudden thud of footsteps makes Holtz feel kind of guilty, especially when Erin is the one leading the charge, eyes wild. She gets to Holtz, grabbing her by the arms. “Are you okay? Is it Fetus? Do I need to call an ambulance?”

Then, she notices Elsie. Abby and Patty do at the same time, and slide to a stop so fast that Abby crashes into Patty, who flings out an arm to stop her from falling.

“Guys,” Holtzmann says, “This is Elsbeth. My little sister. Elsie, this is Patty, historian and resident non-fiction nerd…”

Patty gives Elsie a huge smile, although Holtz notices it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Dr. Abby Yates, physicist and soup connoisseur…”

Abby reaches out a hand to shake Elsie’s, muttering some sort of greeting, although she glares fiercely as she does.

Holtz reaches out, slinging an arm around Erin’s waist, pulling her wife even closer. “And this is Dr. Erin Gilbert. Theoretical physicist, owner of the world’s tiniest bowtie, and my wife.”

Erin smiles, wrapping her arm around Holtz’s waist in return, their hips bumping. Elsie smiles, somewhat uncomfortably. “It’s lovely to meet you,” she says, formally, shaking Erin’s hand.

Erin casts a glance at Holtz, before giving Elsie an equally uncomfortable smile.

The rest of the afternoon is uncomfortable, there’s no doubt about that. Elsie all but cowers through the tour, flinching away from the loudest humming of Holtz’s machines. She warms up to Patty the quickest, but that’s to be expected. Patty is an eternally-beaming ray of sunshine, and she’s gentle to the woman. Abby glares, because no one can hold a grudge like Abby, and Erin…well, Erin is equally uncomfortable, and she sticks to Holtz’s side throughout the rest of the afternoon. Holtz gets the feeling that it’s Erin’s way of protecting Holtz, a sort of shield achieved through physical contact.  And she’s grateful for it, she really is.

And when Elsie leaves, after a dinner of Chinese take-out and slightly uncomfortable conversation, Holtz pulls her aside.

“Hey, Elsie?”

Her sister pauses, one hand on the door. “Yeah?”

Holtz chews at her bottom lip, before saying quietly, “If…if you’re ever in New York again, give me a call, okay?”

Elsie smiles, a real smile, for the first time that day, big and bright and beaming, and Holtz has a sudden memory of a ten-year-old Elsie, gap-toothed and grinning, reaching for Holtz’s hand to show her the frog she found in the backyard, the day before Holtz left.

Holtz hugs her. It’s awkward, partly because they haven’t really touched that day, haven’t hugged in twenty years, and partly because of the new addition to Holtz’s front, but still. It’s a hug, and Holtz doesn’t feel like immediately letting go.

When they pull apart, Holtz sees tears glistening in the corners of Elsie’s eyes.

They don’t say goodbye. They just exchange smiles; sad and knowing and ultimately hopeful, and then, she’s gone.

Holtz takes a deep breath, wiping under her eye, surprised yet not to find wetness there. Then, she smiles, and goes to find her wife.

-

It happens when they’re sitting on the couch, watching TV. Holtz’s most recent obsession is nature documentaries. She switches from obsession to obsession as quickly and as joyfully as a child, and Erin loves that about her, loves how she throws herself headfirst and unashamedly into something. And Erin likes the nature documentary obsession much, much more than the bloody black and white horror movie obsession.

Holtz is curled on her side, head in Erin’s lap. Fetus has gotten slightly too big for her to be comfortable flat on her back, so her shoulder is digging into Erin’s thigh. It’s rapidly growing numb, but Erin doesn’t mind. She’s watching the documentary, one hand rubbing gently at Holtz’s scalp, the other on the rounded curve of her side.

Holtz is keeping up a running commentary about the documentary (“You know, it would be so cool if humans had the same sense of smell as wolves.”), and isn’t really paying attention.

When Erin feels it, she isn’t quite sure what it is at first. It wasn’t like she was looking for the sensation, but then it happens again. The soft pattering of a foot or elbow against her hand, a movement under the skin of Holtzmann’s stomach.

“Jillian…” Erin breathes, and her wife twists, to look up at Erin.

“Did you feel that?” Jillian’s eyes are wide and happy.

Erin nods, biting her lip. She kind of feels like crying.

Holtz beams, surging upward (or, at least, moving upward as fast as she can), capturing Erin’s lips in a kiss. Erin kisses her back, the happiness bubbling up in her chest, up and out, and she clutches tightly at the engineer. When Holtz pulls away, she’s beaming.

“I’ve been waiting for you to feel Fetus kicking. You kept not being able to.”

“But I just did,” Erin whispers, and Holtz catches Erin’s hand, moves her hand down, a bit lower, to below the curve of her stomach. Erin feels it again, a steady thud against her hand, and she can see Holtz’s stomach _move_ , as something inside it shifts.

Holtz beams. “We made life, Erin. You can feel life.”

Erin laughs, and kisses her again.

For the first time, she’s thinking that maybe, maybe, they’re going to rule the rest of this whole pregnancy thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You thought that I'd let you know the sex of the baby? HA HA NOPE. I live to make you guys wait. 
> 
> But, thank you so much for your kudos and comments and kind words! I live for them, and it makes my day, it really does.
> 
> Also, if you're so inclined, I have created a[Tumblr](https://ainewrites.tumblr.com/). So far there are only two posts on it, and one of them is the news that this has been updated, but if any of you guys are on Tumblr and talk about writing and Holtzbert, yell at me and I'll come follow you!


	4. Third Trimester

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holtz and Erin are in the final stretch! Will I make it easy on them? We'll see.

Erin walks into the apartment to be greeted by the sound of screaming. She drops her bags and runs toward the bedroom, to where the sound is coming from, only to find Holtz, on the bed, totally fine, staring at her computer screen with a look of horrified fascination. It takes a moment for Erin’s heart to settle, although it jumps at the sound of another scream.

“Holtz?” She asks, cautiously, edging forward, unsure if she wants to see whatever is on the screen. “What’re you watching?”

Holtz looks up. She’s wearing her glasses, even though she’s in her pajamas, which makes Erin even more nervous. But she smiles brightly, gesturing for Erin to sit beside her.

“Abby reminded me today about those videos we had to watch in health class of a women giving birth. Do you remember?”

Erin does, actually. Sex Ed had been awful and embarrassing enough to an eleven-year-old, but then the teacher had shown them an extremely graphic video of childbirth. More than one kid threw up. Erin has blocked most of the memory of that day, but she remembers the feeling of horror, and she shudders.

“Weeeellll,” Holtz drawls, “I may have turned to the internet. I found some of those videos.”

Holtz hits play again, and Erin glances at the screen just in time to be greeted with the space between a stranger’s legs. She gasps, covering her eyes. “Holtz!”

“What?” Holtz asks, digging her elbow gently into Erin’s side. “It’s not like it’s sexual. It’s _biology_.”

“Still…some warning, please.” Erin peeks through her fingers, hands still in front of her face. She can’t quite seem to pull them away.

She flinches throughout the entire ten-minute video, and even Holtz does at one point, fingernails digging into Erin’s arm. But, then, it’s there.

A baby, squalling fiercely, being lifted onto the mother’s chest. Erin glances out of the corner of her eye, to Holtz, who is watching, enraptured, her face inches from the skin. Erin reaches out and holds her hand.

“Three more months, Holtz. You’re in the final stretch.”

“ _We’re_ in the final stretch.” Holtz squeezes Erin’s hand tightly, “Although you’re not the one that has to deal with Fetus kicking your organs at all hours of the day and night. I wasn’t aware that your liver could feel like it was being punched on the inside.”

“I wasn’t, either,” Erin says, and they lapse into a comfortable silence.

Later, that night, Erin phone buzzes with a notification from the pregnancy app on her phone, welcoming them to the third trimester. She smiles at the notification, looking over at her sleeping wife, curled up beside her.

Two thirds of the way through, officially. Erin leans down to kiss Holtz’s forehead, who gives a little murmur in her sleep, wiggling closer to Erin. And it’s barely ten, but Erin reaches out, and turns off the light.

-

Only the duo that is Erin Gilbert and Jillian Holtzmann would move three months before a baby is due. Erin’s old apartment is perfectly fine for the two of them; just a combined living room/kitchen/dining room, a bathroom, a bedroom. But now there’s going to be a whole extra human in their lives, and unless they want it sleeping in a crib in the middle of the dining room, they actually need a new bedroom.

They found an apartment with one more room relatively quickly. And it’s very close to the old one, only one block over and up a little bit. The entire process was over and dealt with quickly, and now they have a week to move out of the old apartment, and a week to get the new apartment in actual living order.

That morning, Erin and Holtz had drawn straws. Winner gets to go to the grocery store, looser gets to paint the kitchen. Erin came up with the short straw, so Holtz takes the mini-van from the firehouse, kidnaps Patty, and heads to the grocery store. She privately things that even if Erin had been the one to get the long straw, she would have sent Holtz to the store, anyways, but Holtz is glad that she won, because she’d feel guilty accepting Erin’s offer.

But, the smell of the paint makes her feel sick, and she’s been cooped up in either the firehouse or the old apartment all week, and the grocery store is a welcome change.

Patty (who was brought along mostly against her will) wanders off, and Holtz takes the chance to take a detour into the candy isle. She hums as she tosses a bag of marshmallows and about six of her favorite candy bars into the cart, only to be interrupted by someone.

“Hello, dear,” the woman says. She’s older, maybe in her sixties, and is giving Holtz a fond smile. Holtz raises an eyebrow.

“Hello,” She says, conversationally, leaning against the handlebar of the cart. She goes to push the cart down past the candy to the oatmeal (because Erin requested Holtz get it, even though it’s just flavorless gray mush), but the woman is standing in her way.

“How far along are you?” The woman asks, giving Holtz’s stomach a knowing look.

“Oh, I’m not pregnant,” Holtz says, cheerfully, “I just store all my body fat in my stomach. Kind of like a bear about to go into hibernation.”

The woman looks confused, and Holtz internally groans because she didn’t get the joke. “I’m twenty-eight weeks.”

“Oh, twenty-eight?” The woman asks, eyes rounding behind her glasses. “Are you sure? You’re positively tiny. I was about twice your size at twenty-eight weeks with my eldest.”

“Well, my doctor says it’s fine.” Holtz looks around for Patty (who’s an expert at getting people out of conversations like this), but she’s nowhere in sight. She’s never really been a person for casual small-talk, and she’s been roped into enough conversations with woman telling her every single thing about their past pregnancies that she’s pretty sure she knows where this conversation is going. She moves the cart as if she’s going to keep walking.

The woman doesn’t take the hint. She leans forward, massively invading Holtz’s physical space, their faces inches apart. Holtz stares back at her, the yellow lenses of her sunglasses giving the woman’s hair a strange brownish tinge.

“Have you felt the baby kick, yet?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s training to be an ultimate fighter. Treats my organs like its own personal punching bag.”

“Oh, I love feeling the little ones kick. It always makes my day.”

And then, the woman leans forward and places a hand on Holtz’s stomach. No asking included. Holtz looks down at her hand. The woman doesn’t take it off. So, Holtz reaches out and places her own hand on the woman’s stomach. They stare at each other, the woman looking increasingly uncomfortable.

“Hey, Holtzy, I found the…Woah. What’s going on here?” Patty rounds the corner and takes in the scene in front of her. The woman yanks her hand away from Holtz’s stomach, her cheeks tinging red.

Holtz grins at Patty. “Pattycakes!”

The woman takes the opportunity to flee. Holtz leans against the cart, giving a salute.

“What was that about?” Patty asks curiously, dropping the box of lasagna noodles into the cart.

Holtz shrugs. “Someone got a bit too touchy-feely. Like, no.” She made a waving motion with her hands. “No touching the merchandise.”

Patty laughs, and slings an arm around Holtz’s shoulders. Holtz makes an exaggerated sound of faux-anger, and ducks out of the way, before promptly allowing Patty to do it again.

“Has that happened a lot?” Patty asks curiously, gesturing at the end of the isle. “Someone just coming up and touching your belly?”

Holtz tilts her head, thinking. “Maybe a couple of times? Not really, though, because I don’t look _pregnant_ , y’know? I’ve had it happen a couple of times at the OB/GYN’s, and a reporter did it once after a bust, but Erin stepped on her foot and pretended it was an accident.”

“I’m sure it helps that all you wear is y’all’s overalls.” Patty looks Holtz up and down. “I’m surprised she even noticed your stomach.”

Holtz grins. “I thought you said I looked like a homeless painter.”

Patty rolls her eyes. “One comment. I make one comment, and you never let it go.”

Holtz jumps up onto the edge of the cart, coasting down the aisle. “You love me and you know it!” She twists to look over her shoulder, nearly tipping the cart in the process, and gives Patty a two-fingered salute.

Patty grumbles good-naturedly, and trudges after her friend.

-

Holtz drops the bags of groceries on the plastic-covered table of the new apartment with as much ceremony as she can muster, even though Patty isn’t even in the room yet. She looks around. The smell of paint is fainter, now; Erin must have opened every window in the apartment, and she shivers in the breeze.

“Erin?” She calls, leaving the bags on the table and venturing further into the newly-painted apartment. “Er? Er-Bear? I have food! Erin, Er-Bear, come and get your oatmeal!” She sings, shoving her hands into her pocket.

It’s Abby’s voice that answers. “In here, Holtzmann!”

Holtz follows her voice to the opening of the soon-to-be-nursery, and leans against the doorframe. “Whatcha doing? Where’s Erin?”

Abby’s sitting cross-legged in front of one of the walls, a tiny jar of paint in her hands. Her hoodie and leggings are splattered with paint, and it occurs to Holtz that she doesn’t think she’s ever seen Abby in anything but her jumpsuit or jeans and a cardigan.

Abby glances up. “Erin went to the hardware store for more paint. She ran out about halfway through your bedroom. And I’m painting.” She says the last sentence with a clear “dumbass” attached to the end of it, and Holtz raises an eyebrow.

“We finished painting this room three days ago. On Sunday.” And they had. Two walls are a soft, buttery yellow, and the other two are a deep, dark forest green. Admittedly, Holtz hadn’t stepped foot in the apartment since then, because the smell from the paint made her lightheaded, but she didn’t think that anything had gone spectacularly wrong with the paintjob.

Abby’s brows furrow. “Erin didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Holtz asks cheerfully. “That we’re changing the color scheme?”

Abby frowns. “I think I was supposed to be done before you got home.”

Holtz steps further into the room. The way the room is angled, she had been unable to see what Abby was working on. But now she can, the wall spreading out before her.

It’s a mural. A lake, tranquil and quiet, hemmed in by rocky beaches and tall pines, a small island in the distance. Abby’s putting the finishing touches on it; a shadow here, a bit of white on the top of a wave there, a smudge of sunlight on rocks over there.

“I didn’t know you could paint.”

That’s the first thing that comes from Holtz’s mouth, and she kicks herself, because this mural is beautiful, and perfect, but still, she’s known Abby for almost ten years and she never knew that she had this kind of artistic ability.

Abby snorts. “Who did you think drew the map of New York on the wall of the firehouse?”

“Patty,” Holtz says, instantly. It’s Patty’s baby, after all; a map of the city taking up an entire wall, accurate down to the street, every area of ghostly activity or protentional future ghostly activity lovingly marked by the historian. She had spent months on it, and still updates it after every bust.

“Patty is the one who painted over it, I traced it.” Abby says, setting her pot of paint down. She leans back, surveying the mural.

“But…”

Abby twists to stare at the engineer. “Do you not like it?”

“No, it’s perfect!” Holtz darts over and pulls Abby into a tight, awkwardly angled hug. “I love it.” She studies the mural, and her delight grows as she spots a tiny detail.

“Is that the Loch Ness Monster?”

Abby grunts confirmation, getting to her feet. “Erin doesn’t know about that. That’s a surprise to her.”

“It’s awesome! Hit my hands with your hands!” She holds out both hands, palms up, grinning, ready for their secret handshake. Abby laughs, and obliges. Out in the apartment, a door slams. There’s the gentle murmur of conversation, and while Holtz can’t pick out the exact words, she recognizes Erin and Patty’s voices.

She links her elbow with Abby’s. “Come on, Abs. Let’s go introduce my baby daddy to Nessie.”

-

They have a new fridge full of new groceries, but they eat Chinese take-out on the floor of the living room, instead. There’s an air of contentment about the four of them; a warm drowsiness that can only be achieved after a long day and a delicious meal, and Holtz’s entire right side is glinting with tingles, fireflies tracing away through her bloodstream everywhere she touches Erin. She rests her head on her wife’s shoulder, listening to her and Abby bicker good-naturedly about recent scientific theories, Patty breaking in every few sentences to throw in her own opinion.

Even Fetus seems relaxed, its movements slow and lazy, no sharp jabbing of elbows or kicking of feet, just the gentle sweeping motions of turning. Holtz's arm drapes loosely over her stomach as she nuzzles into Erin’s shoulder, and Erin wraps her free arm around Holtz without even looking.

Eventually, inevitably, the conversation turns to Holtz and Fetus. Patty wants to know about names (Holtz and Erin have a couple they’re considering, but they won’t tell, not yet), Abby wants to know the details of their latest doctor’s appointment, and Holtz launches into a list of details so graphic it makes both Patty and Abby grimace in discomfort.

At one point, Erin turns to Holtz with a question in her eyes, and Holtz nods.

Erin takes a deep breath. “So, we have something to tell you.”

“It’s twins!” Abby says, eyes growing wide.

Patty shoots her a look. “Why would you even think that?”

“Isn’t that how these conversations late in a pregnancy end up going?”

“Girl, look at her. She’s tiny. There’s no way she’s incubating two in there.”

“Well-“

“Guys,” Holtz says, waving her hand. “Over here. Pregnancy lady in the overalls. Definitely not carrying twins.”

Patty shoots Abby a told you so look. Abby scowls, but turns to Erin. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

Erin smiles nervously, squeezing Holtz’s hand. “Well, Holtzmann and I were talking the other day, and we were writing up the birth plan-“

“What’s a birth plan?”

“It’s exactly what it sounds like, dumbass.”

“ANYWAYS,” Erin says, loudly, before Abby and Patty can start bickering again, “We really want you with us. You’re part of our family, after all.”

Patty blinks. “Erin, baby, I’m not quite sure I understand what you’re saying.”

Holtz leans forward, tucking her chin into her palm. “Let me spell it out for you. We, that is, Erin and I, are cordially inviting you to watch Fetus immerge into the world, via my vagina. Understand what I’m saying?”

Erin winces. “Yeah. Um, what she said.”

Abby’s eyes are wide behind her glasses. Patty has frozen, her soda halfway to her mouth.

It’s Patty who breaks the stunned silence. “You…want us…with you while you’re in labor?”

Holtz nods, glancing over at Erin. “We do. You guys are like the sisters we never wanted. Annoying, sure…” Patty huffs in mock annoyance, “But we love you. And this is an important part of our life, and we want you to be there. There will, however, be a few conditions.”

“Of course,” Abby jokes, though her words are slightly strangled.

Holtz ticks them off on her fingers. “One: One of you has to film it. I’ve gotten more film for my camera. You can bet I’ll be showing this kid the footage on their birthday until they’re 90. Two: Erin’s going to be coming unglued- don’t look at me like that, you know you are, Er-Bear -so one of you is going to have to yell at people when she can’t. And three: No fainting. I don’t want the wonderful experience of forcing something the size of a melon out of my body to be marred by one of you cracking your head open and getting blood all over everything.” She shoots off finger guns. “And that’s it. Take it or leave it.”

Abby starts crying, and Erin reaches for her in concern. “Abby?”

They’re both surprised when Abby lunges forward, hugging them so tight that Holtz can swear she feels her ribs crack.

Patty doesn’t say anything either, just beams at them, wide and happy.

-

Erin and Holtz spend the last night in their old, completely empty apartment, on a blow-up air mattress in the middle of what used to be their bedroom. It’s late, very late, and they had just spent a long, long day moving into the new place, so they should be asleep. But they don’t have to be out of their old apartment until tomorrow, and somehow, neither of them is quite ready to say goodbye yet.

They’re stomach to stomach, and Erin can feel more than hear Holtz’s gentle breathing, even in the silence of the room. Their fingers are entwined, hands up, almost to their faces. Erin stares at Holtz, at her wife, who’s fast asleep, almost as soon as she lay down. She looks young, she looks so, so young when she sleeps. There’s an innocence about her that she lacks when she’s awake, when her brain isn’t whirring ten million miles a minute, when she’s not thinking about the next big thing, the next huge idea.

Her lashes flutter, lips moving soundlessly. She’s dreaming, clearly, but it’s no nightmare. Instead, she sighs softly, lovingly, and when Erin takes her free hand, traces the curve of Jillian’s shoulder, she melts into the touch, tucking her face into the crook of Erin’s neck, even in sleep.

Erin follows the bend of her arm, fingers brushing feather-light against the skin, pale in the darkness, almost unthinkingly.

Slowly, Holtz’s eyes flutter open.

“Er?” Her voice is rusty with sleep.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Erin whispers back, guilt stabbing at her. Jillian is tired constantly, has been throughout this entire pregnancy, but now, sleep is harder for her to get than ever, as no matter which way she lies, there’s always some part of her that’s uncomfortable.

“’s fine,” Jillian says, a smile in her voice, eyelids flutter. “What’re you thinking about?”

“Us,” Erin admits. “The apartment.”

“Oh?”

“There are so many memories attached to this place,” Erin says, “We had so many moments here, you know? So many firsts. We kissed for the first time in this room, remember?”

“Of course.” Jillian snuggles closer to Erin. “But they’re just memories, Er-Bear.”

“What do you mean?” Erin blinks at Jillian, half-asleep Jillian, who doesn’t notice.

“The apartment isn’t us. We’re us. We’re home, not the place. We could be living in the back alley of some country with a name neither of us could pronounce and we’d still be home. You’re my home, Erin.”

“And you’re mine,” Erin whispers back, the flood of emotions making her words come out choked.

Jillian makes a sound. Tiny and happy and so full of love it makes Erin’s chest grow warm, and she pulls her wife closer to her. Jillian hums, and, within moments is asleep again, as if she’d never woken up.

Erin kisses her forehead, and, this time, sleep comes to her. Because Jillian is right, of course.

Home isn’t a place, isn’t this apartment or the next one or any other place they may be living in the future. Home is family. Home is her mom and Abby and Patty. Home is Fetus.

Home is Jillian Holtzmann, her wife, her other half, her heart.

Because without Jillian, home wouldn’t truly be home.

-

Taking Holtz to a baby store might have been a mistake. The store clerks seem mildly terrified by her, which isn’t a surprise, considering how loudly she’s explaining to Erin how to turn a breast pump into a sort of ghost suction.

“Look, all you’d need to do is hook up a containment unit, and you’ve got a ghost!” She flips on the pump, which start sucking motions with a loud, mechanic whirring. Erin glances at the other woman in the aisle, who’s trying desperately to not look like she’s watching them, and feels her cheeks flush, even as she laughs.

“Holtz…”

“What?” Holtz asks, grinning, setting the pumps back down on the shelf. “Shall we get one?”

“We already have one,” Erin says, returning her attention to the list in her hand. Holtz leans against the handlebar of the cart.

“Really, since when?”

Erin shrugs. “A while. One of the times I went shopping with Abby.”

Holtz shrugs. It makes sense. She’d originally refused to step foot in baby stores with Erin, calling them floral and pastel hellscapes, but today, when Erin asked, she was bored enough to say yes. It was a Sunday so they didn’t have to work, and they’ve had few busts over the last couple of weeks, anyways. Plus, Erin had banned her from working with anything too radioactive, which limits her projects drastically. Like, worryingly drastically, and Erin makes a mental note to talk to her about how much radiation _actually_ bounces around in the lab, because she really doesn’t want to wake up one morning to find herself growing a third arm out of her chest.

They get slightly sidetracked. They’d come for a car seat and sling or baby carrier, but Holtz is a serial wanderer and Erin looks up at one point, and her wife is no longer with the cart.

“Holtz?” Erin tosses the sling she was inspecting in the cart and goes off in search for her.

She finds her sitting cross-legged on the floor, in front of a shelf of onesies. There’s a small pile of clothing in front of her, and she seems captivated by it.

“Jillian?” Erin sits down next to her, curling her legs underneath her.

“They’re so _small_ ,” Jillian says, passing a onesie to Erin.

Erin unfolds it. It is tiny. So tiny it makes her breath catch. She runs her fingers over the soft, gray cotton, unable to take her eyes off it. Jillian adds another carefully to the pile in front of her, her own hands lingering carefully on it.

“I mean, Fetus feels huge, right now,” Jillian says, her hands going to her stomach. “Like they're taking up so much room. Like they're going to pop out the size of a toddler. But they're not. They're going to fragile and tiny and breakable.” Jillian reaches for the pile of clothing, but her hands stall. “I’m not sure if I can do it, Erin. My other babies, my machines, have been breakable, yes, but always fixable. And never alive. And they’ve always had armor. Fetus won’t have armor.”

Erin stands up, pulling Holtz up with her. Holtz groans as she does, the extra weight making it much, much harder for her to bounce to her feet like usual.

“We’ll be Fetus’s armor, Jill. That’s what parents are.” Erin wraps an arm around Holtz’s waist, pulling her close. Holtz drops the onesies into the cart, bumps her shoulder against Erin’s.

“I guess so.” They slowly head back the way Erin came from, toward the back of the store where the car seats reside. As they do, Erin fishes something out of the cart that she had grabbed on the way to find Holtz.

“Here. We can add this to Fetus’s room. It matches the mural.”

It’s a stuffed Loch Ness Monster, soft and floppy and blueish gray, and Holtz takes it almost as gently as she was cradling the onesies. “It’s perfect.” She holds it up to Erin’s face. “Say ‘ello to my leetle friend,” she says, in the world’s most awful Russian accent.

Erin laughs. “Isn’t Loch Ness in Scotland?”

“Really?” Holtz switches back to her regular voice. “Huh. I thought it was Russia.” She holds the stuffed sea monster to her chest, leaning her head against Erin’s shoulder.

When they get home, Nessie gets put in a place of honor on the bookshelf.

-

“Nine weeks,” Holtz says, wearily, when the fourth person in as many hours asks her when her due date is. It manages to simultaneously feel like ages away and no time at all, and Holtz is beginning to regret agreeing to go on the library date with Patty.

Erin’s home sick, having caught the cold that Kevin brought into the firehouse, and refused to let Holtz stay and take care of her. She threatened physical harm, actually, if Holtz had stayed, which seems backwards because the whole reason she doesn’t want Holtz at home with her is because she doesn’t want her to get sick. After spending the morning moping around the firehouse and sighing, Patty asks if she wants to come with her to the library. It is a Friday, after all, and she’s still going even if Erin isn’t.

And, naturally, it’s on the one day where she doesn’t have any clean overalls, and she’s in a button-up shirt and a pair of pants she must use a rubber band to keep the button closed. Her rounded, pregnant stomach is visible. Extremely visible. And people are asking questions. Strange people she’s never met before.

It still makes her very uncomfortable, to know that other people know that she’s harboring another human, and she still feels vulnerable, but slightly less so, now. She never really goes anywhere alone, but the reporters have thankfully died off, and now she can at least walk to her favorite bakery without being accosted, so that’s nice.

She had been trying to look through the shelves of books for sale, but that was right in front of the library, where there are people, so she goes to find Patty. Patty kind of looks like she’s regretting inviting Holtz, especially when she plops down into the chair next to her.

“So, Pattycakes,” Holtz says, leaning her elbow against the armrest of the chair. “What’s new?”

Patty raises an eyebrow, not looking away from her book. “You know. Making sure y’all don’t die on each and every bust, keeping Abby from murdering Kevin, the usual.”

“Excellent, excellent.” Holtz leans closer, propping her chin on her fist. “I’m feeling kind of hungry.”

“You’re always hungry.”

“A valid point. But, perhaps you’d like to get something to eat.”

Patty sighs. “We’ve been at the library for a half an hour, Holtzy. Barely even that.”

“You get to choose the place.”

That makes Patty set down her book. “Are you serious?”

“Yep.”

“Fine.” Patty stands up, and when Holtz makes an overdramatic grabbing motion at her hands, pulls the engineer out of the chair and to her feet. “But no complaining, okay?”

“Okay!” Holtz says, cheerfully.

They end up at one of the many vegan restaurants popping up all over New York. Holtz scowls at the menu. “I’m not a rabbit, Patty.”

Patty rolls her eyes. “As you’ve made very, very clear every time I talk about this place. But you’ll like it, I promise.”

“Look, they don’t even have noodles,” Holtz says, gesturing at the menu. “Instead it’s pieces of stringy zucchini. What kind of monsters are they?”

Patty rolls her eyes again. When the waiter comes, she orders for Holtz, despite Holtz’s protests.

“Eat something healthy for once, Holtzy. You can’t live off of Pringles and Chinese take-out for the rest of your life.”

“Watch me.”

The waiter delivers two plates of food. Holtz stares down at hers. It appears surprisingly normal. She pokes her fork at what she thinks might be a potato, but instead squishes. She wrinkles her nose.

“What kind of creature is this, Patty?”

Patty’s already started eating, unconcerned about the fact that Holtz is pregnant and needs actual food, not crazy healthy non-foods. “It’s tofu stir fry. Eat it. I promise you’ll like it.”

“I’ve never eaten tofu in my life.”

“Well, you’re about too.”

So, Holtz eats it. And it’s delicious. She glares at Patty the entire time she shovels food into her mouth, because it’s her fault that this is so delicious, and it shouldn’t be, because it should be disgusting.

Patty looks satisfied.

On the cab ride back to the firehouse, they’re mostly quiet. Holtz stares out the window, the buildings, the people blurring across her vision.

“Sometimes I’m jealous of you two, you know.”

The sentence is so unexpected that Holtz looks up, twisting to stare at Patty. “Who?”

Patty shrugs. “You and Erin. You’re so happy together. I mean, every time you look at each other, it’s like you’re still newly in love, and it’s been six years. And I’ve dated people, sure, but I’ve never felt like that. And now you’re going to have a baby, and you’re so lucky.”

“You’ll find someone, one day.”

“I know.” Patty smiles, somewhat sadly. “But that’s not what I wanted this conversation to be about.” She reaches out, grasps Holtz’s shoulder. “I wanted to say I’m so proud of you. You’re the little sister I never wanted, either,”

Holtz gasps in mock outrage, but Patty continues, traces of a smile pulling at the corners of her lips. “And you’re happy, you’re married, you’re going to be a mom. And I want to say thank you for letting me witness this, okay? Y’all are my family, too, and I love you to bits.”

“Aw, Pattycakes.” Holtz squishes the woman into a hug, and Patty laughs, patting Holtz’s back.

“Okay, I think you’re squashing Fetus, there.”

“Fetus doesn’t care.” Holtz pulls back, one hand going to her stomach.

“Love you, Pattycakes.”

“Love you too, Holtzy.”

-

Holtz tiptoes into the apartment that night, shrugging off her coat and tossing it in the general direction of the coat rack. The lights in the apartment are off, and Holtz doesn’t bother to switch them on. She lets her finger tips trail against the well as she navigates the dark apartment. She could maneuver the old one blindfolded, had even tested it once, but this apartment was new and different, and she really didn’t want to crash into a wall because she forgot that the hallway turn was sharper than in their old apartment.

Erin’s curled up on the bed, a box of tissues and a bottle of water on the bedside table, clearly asleep. Holtz steps out of her pants, not bothering to take off her shirt, and slides into bed next to her.

Erin stirs, groaning. “Holtz?”

“Go back to sleep.”

“’m sick.”

“I know. Just don’t breathe in my direction and I’ll be fine.” Holtz attempts to curl around Erin, but Fetus blocks her way, so instead she just lets her arm flop in Erin’s general direction. Erin gives a little grumble, but her breathes are rapidly deepening again. Holtz leans forward and kisses the only piece of exposed skin she can see without moving from her position (Erin’s shoulder).

“G’night, Er-Bear. Sleep tight.”

(Holtz does end up getting sick. But it means that she and Erin spend all day in bed together, so she doesn’t mind).

-

Seven weeks before Holtz’s due date, Dr. Gorin shows up in New York. It’s a surprise, which isn’t surprising, because Rebecca Gorin never lets them know when she’s going to be there. They just come to the firehouse one day to find her in the lab, staring at the machines with a thoughtful frown, typing away at the keyboards attached to most of them.

This time, though, she’s here for a specific purpose, and not just because she’s in the area.

“Jillian,” she says, stretching out her arms with as much warmth as her voice can hold. Erin thinks that she’s probably aiming for grasping Holtz’s hands, but Holtz launches herself into a hug, sending Dr. Gorin back a few steps.

“Becca!” Holtz’s voice holds pure delight, as it always does when she sees her mentor. Erin smiles, because a delighted Holtz is an irresistibly adorable Holtz. Dr. Gorin untangles herself from Holtz as gently as possible, holding her at arm’s length.

“You look well, Jillian.”

Holtz beams. “I’ve had a couple of interesting additions. Y’know. Grown about a foot and a half. Outwards, though, not taller.” She gestures downwards at her stomach. Dr. Gorin looks down at it.

“Yes, well…” she coughs in what Erin thinks is an attempt to hid her discomfort. “I thought I should come and see you before you get…busy.”

Holtz’s smile only gets wider. “I’ve got a couple of notable things cooking upstairs. Veeery minimal radiation, unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately?” Erin squeaks, but the two engineers ignore her.

“There’s still enough to make things spicy, though. Wear your goggles, because the chance of poofs is large.”

Holtz grins at Erin as they walk past, though, winking and giving her a two-fingered salute. “See you at lunch, Er!”

“Holtz! Jillian! Please don’t give our unborn child radiation poisoning!” Erin leans over the stair rail, but Holtz is already three quarters of the way up the stairs, chattering wildly. She slumps backwards, and sighs.

“Unborn child?” Kevin’s voice floats over to Erin, and she turns. He’s at his desk, wearing what she thinks he probably thinks is a lab coat, but is, in reality, chef whites.

“Yeah,” Erin says slowly. “I’d prefer not to have a child that’s growing an extra head.”

“Are one of you pregnant?” He asks, conversationally, and Patty, who’s at her desk, starts laughing, although she tries to disguise it as a series of coughs.

Erin stares at him. “Holtzmann is pregnant, Kev. You know this.”

“I just thought she ate a watermelon seed,” Kevin says, and Patty’s laughing gets more pronounced. “I had a cousin who swallowed a watermelon seed and had to get it removed or it would grow in his stomach.”

He says this in such a matter-of-fact way that Erin can’t do anything but stare at him.

-

Dr. Gorin confuses Erin. Admittedly, she scares her a little bit, too, but, mostly, she confuses her.

She’s brilliant, unquestionably so, in a way that very, very few people are. And she’s so effortlessly sure in her intelligence, in a way that Erin could never be. But she’s also cold, aloof, not in an arrogant way, just in a way says she doesn’t really like other people.

Erin can understand all that.

What she doesn’t understand is how she becomes a completely different person when she’s around Holtz. She becomes warm, soft, even, and while Erin gets the feeling that physical contact is a complete and utter no with everyone else, she touches Holtz. Or, at least, she lets Holtz touch her.

Hands on arms, shoulders grasped in excitement, hips bumped. Holtz is a very physical person, both romantically and platonically speaking, and Dr. Gorin just…isn’t. Even the lunch they shared before she left was silted and awkward, like it always once, and when Abby accidently brushed her elbow reaching for a fork, Dr. Gorin’s entire body stiffened.

But, as she was leaving, Erin watched Holtz hug her so tightly the other woman had to push her away before Holtz injured her, a fond smile on her face.

Later that night, Erin asks.

“So…Dr. Gorin. What’s the backstory there?”

She tries to sound casual, but there must be something odd in her voice, because Holtz looks up from the toaster she insists she’s “upgrading”.

She studies Erin’s face for a moment, then shrugs, tossing aside a screwdriver for pair of needle-nosed pliers. “Rebecca was my lab professor first quarter. I think they gave her to us to scare us, honestly, because pretty much everyone was terrified of her.”

“Were you?”

“Nah. She wasn’t any worse than what I had just come from, y’know?” Holtz switches out the pliers for bolt cutters, and Erin flinches every time she snips, because she kind of doesn’t think she’ll be having a toasted bagel for breakfast, anymore. At least, not without catching the entire kitchen on fire. “And she took notice of me, I guess, because she quit teaching later that year, offered me an apprenticeship, and apparently, I grew on her.” She drums a screwdriver against the table for a second. “I dunno. I’ve never really asked her. I just think…I reminded her of herself. Total cliché, I know, but we came from the same sort of background. Brilliant from an early age, grew up in toxic environments, although hers was with a physically and emotionally abusive mother, and a dad who died from cancer when she was six.”

Holtz shrugs. “We understood each other.”

“So, there was never…well…”

“Sex?” Holtz asks, and laughs when Erin blushes. “Nope. Purely platonic, our relationship. Besides, even if it ever was…” Holtz reaches across the table and snags Erin’s wrist, pulling her closer until Erin was practically sitting in her lap. “She’d have some major competition.” She kisses Erin’s palm, then flips her hand over to lick her wrist. Erin laughs, yanking her hand away, even as she leans down to kiss Holtz properly. Holtz pulls away, grimacing, and Erin looks at her in concern.

“Is something wrong?”

“Fetus is pummeling my kidneys.” Holtz winces, one hand going to her side. She looks down at her stomach. “Fetus! Stop cock-blocking Mama Holtz!”

“Mama Holtz?”

“Stop grinning, Gilbert, and kiss me.”  
-

Erin is woken up in the middle of the night by Holtz shaking her awake. She blinks, rolling over.

“Jillian?” Her voice is rusty and garbled from sleep. She sits up, blinking the tiredness from her eyes. “Is everything okay?

Jillian looks like a ghost in the darkness. Face ashy and pale, eyes wide, pupils blown. And when Erin reaches for her, she can feel her trembling.

“Jill?”

“I…I can’t…” Her breaths are gasping, and Erin knows by the way that she fists her hands into the bedsheets that the world is tilting and spinning around her. A panic attack, sharp and violent.

“Jillian. Ten things. What are ten things you can see from right here?” Erin grabs her wife’s arms.

“…Gray curtains. Potted fern…”

“It’s okay. Keep going.”

“Picture of us. Raincoat on the doorknob. The book you borrowed from Patty.”

Erin rubs her arm. “Okay.”

“Painting on the wall. My extra pair of goggles. Your sweatshirt on its hanger. A mug of water.”

“One more.”

“The dirty clothes hamper next to the door.” Jillian takes a deep, shuddering breath, but her chest is no longer heaving like it was.

Erin nods. “Okay. What’s wrong?”

Jillian shudders. “I think…I think I may be having contractions.”

Erin’s suddenly wide, wide awake. “Really?”

Jillian nods, her voice strangled. “It doesn’t hurt a lot, not really, it’s just kind of tight and squeezing, but Erin, it’s too early. My due date isn’t for five weeks. Fetus needs to cook longer.”

Erin thinks, somewhere in the back of her mind, that she should be panicking right now, that she should be spiraling into her own panic attack, because it’s 2AM on a Thursday morning, and Jillian is waking her up five weeks early because she might be going into labor. But instead she’s calm, a strange, almost awful sort of calm. Like the calm before a terrible, terrible storm.

“Do you want to go to the ER?”

Even in the darkness, Erin can see the tears gathering in the corner of Jillian’s eyes as she nods, biting her lip. Her arms are wrapped around her stomach, and she’s _shaking_.

They don’t bother with actual clothes. They just pull on sweatshirts and shove feet into shoes, the door clicking ominously behind them as they venture into the hall.

The cab ride to the hospital is awful in its silence. Jillian is staring out the window, shaking, and she has two of what might be contractions on the way to the hospital. When they happen, she closes her eyes, digging her fingernails into her thighs.

The ER isn’t busy. It isn’t empty, but it’s not busy, either, and Erin is so grateful for that. The room is mostly populated with parents with coughing children and the occasional person who might be on drugs, but there are only a half dozen or so other people, and Erin mechanically lists off all the details.

“Jillian Holtzmann.” “Thirty-five weeks.” “Dr. Ramirez.” “Woke up with contractions.”

And throughout it all, Jillian trembles.

-

When the doctor comes in, she’s warm and smiling. She sits down across from them, and Jillian is holding Erin’s hand so tightly it feels like she’s cutting off the circulation, and Erin knows she’s holding her hand equally tightly.

“They’re called Braxton-Hicks contractions,” The doctor says, setting her clipboard down on her knees. “Also known as false labor. Very, very common, and it’s also very common for them to be confused with real labor, especially in first time mothers.”

“So…she’s not in labor?” Erin asks, slowly, and she can hear Jillian suck in a breath beside her.

The doctor smiles. “No.”

Jillian lets out the breath in a rush, and all but collapses against Erin. Her relief is a palpable thing, and Erin can feel it coming off her in waves.

“Dr. Holtzmann, you’re not dilating, and your baby is still up rather far in your pelvis,” The doctor explains. “It needs to drop and start putting pressure on your cervix for you to begin dilating, and therefor begin labor. Most likely all that’s happening is your body is taking a practice run through things, making sure it knows what to do when the time actually comes.”

“How will we know when that is?” Erin asks, and she can feel Jillian’s grip on her hand tighten again.

“The easy way to tell is when your water breaks,” the doctor says, “But, most of the time, the water doesn’t break until you’re well into labor. Our rule of thumb is when the contractions are between five and seven minutes apart, and lasting one to two minutes. Every doctor says something a little different, however, so I’d recommend talking to them on your next appointment. Do you have any other questions?”

Erin does, a thousand of them, but most of them revolve around _can we stop this from happening again,_ and she already knows the answer to that, so she just shakes her head. Holtzmann does, too, and the doctor tells them they’re free to go.

They stand on the curb outside the hospital as they wait for their cab, and Jillian shivers. Erin pulls her close, unsure if it’s from the chilly wind or the lingering after effects of fear, but it doesn’t really matter.

They don’t talk, really. They don’t have anything to say. Instead, they go home, they go back to bed. Erin sends a quick text to Abby and Patty giving them the gist of what had happened and telling them they won’t be at work the next day before slipping into bed next to Holtz.

“I know I’ve been saying that I can’t wait to get Fetus out,” Jillian says, so quietly that Erin has to strain to hear her, “But I’m really fucking relieved that they'll stay in a little while longer.”

“Me too,” Erin says, and pulls Holtz closer. Jillian wraps herself around Erin as best as she can, tucking her face against Erin’s chest.

She falls asleep like that, easily, but Erin doesn’t fall asleep again for a long, long while. Not until the faintest rays of early morning light start trickling through the gaps under the curtains.

And even when she does sleep, it’s restless, and her dreams are off babies, tiny, tiny babies, born too soon.

-

Erin has started packing what she calls the birth bag. Holtz sits on the bed, an open canister of Pringles in front of her, watching as Erin goes through the bag and adds stuff to it for the third time that week. She started the bag the day after the false alarm that sent them to the ER, something Holtz still feels kind of guilty about even after many reassurances that it’s better safe than sorry.

Erin has one bag here, at the apartment, another in the firehouse, and Holtz is pretty sure she has a third hidden somewhere, just in case something happens with the first two.

“Er?” She says, leaning forward to rest her chin on her hands. “You don’t need to pack a bag inside a bag.”

Erin looks up from where she’s trying to stuff a cloth bag into the already overflowing tote. “But…what if we get more stuff at the hospital?”

“Then we get someone the schlep it to our car.” Holtz holds out both hands. “Put that away and come to bed, Er.”

“We haven’t even had dinner yet.”

“I know. But I’m exhausted.”

Erin hesitates for one, long second, then relents, tucking the bag back into its place and crawling up onto the bed next to Holtz. Holtz breathes a sigh of relief.

The sight of the bag makes something in her stomach churn. She knows that she’s technically now considered full term, even though her due date isn’t for a couple of weeks, but every time she thinks about going to the hospital to have a baby, to give birth to another _human being,_ she starts feeling anxiety bubbling up in her chest.

She’s gotten used to the whole pregnancy thing. She has in no way gotten used to the whole about-to-be-a-parent thing.

She’s excited, of course she is, and she wouldn’t back down out of this decision, but it’s a scary thought. One day, soon, hopefully not until her due date but still soon, she’s going to be in charge of a tiny, _tiny_ , delicate living thing. And, as much as she’s looking forward to it, as much as she knows she’s going to love it with every single bit of her body, it’s still terrifying.

God, if she doesn’t have this baby soon she’s going to die of anxiety.

She’s like a living oxymoron right now, but, hey, she’ll embrace it.

-

Two weeks before Erin’s due date, Abby comes to find Erin. She looks utterly shocked, and Erin sets down her coffee mug.

“Breakthrough?” She asks, thinking of the particularly complex equation Abby had spent the last few working on.

“I just found Holtz organizing.” At Erin’s apparent lack of reaction, Abby says it again, slower. “Holtzmann. _Organizing_.”

“Yeah,” Erin says, and Abby looks at her in complete bewilderment.

“Have you ever seen Holtz do anything that resembles organizing? Her entire lab is chaos. She just throws papers in the general direction of her desk, that thing you’re picking up could be a half-finished bomb or a disassembled phone, and I just found her sorting her bolts into different containers by size.”

Erin takes a sip of coffee. “Yeah,” she says again. “Yesterday I came home to find her trying to scrub a grease stain from the rug with a toothbrush.”

“How are you not freaking out about this?” Abby asks, and points wildly at the stairs. “That can’t be Holtzmann. It’s some robot version of her. Or she’s possessed. She’s possessed, isn’t she?”

“No,” Erin says, shaking her head. “She’s nesting.”

“What the Hell is nesting?”

“It’s when pregnant woman feel the urge to clean or organize. Y’know, like how birds will make a nest? Or wolves will dig a den? She’s trying to make her environment clean and perfect for the baby.” Erin exhales, blowing the steam wafting up from her mug away. “I have to say, I much prefer this version of nesting to the moving furniture type of nesting.”

Abby slides into the chair across from Erin. “I was actually really worried for a second. I thought something was horribly wrong.”

“Only with Holtzmann would cleaning mean something might be horribly wrong.”

“I know.” Abby smiles at Erin. “So. How’re you holding up?”

Erin groans, and lets her head fall to the table. “I feel like I’m always either about to throw up because of anxiety or am about to pass out from sheer exhaustion because of that anxiety.”

She can feel Abby’s eyes on the top of her head. “Do you guys need anything? Because you know Patty and I want to help however we can.”

“I know.”

“Patty even forgo that new nonfiction book she got so she could read a pregnancy book for you guys.”

“Really?” Erin looks up.

Abby shrugs. “I mean, kind of. She’s reading them both at the same time.”

“Of course she is.” Erin sighs, and drags her hand down her face. “I don’t know how I’m going to survive these next few weeks, Abby. I mean, she could go into labor any second, now, but I kind of don’t think she will. At out last doctor’s appointment she still wasn’t dilated and Fetus is still up pretty high.”

“And?”

Erin shrugs. “Dr. Ramirez said she could strip Holtz’s membranes if things don’t start moving soon.” At Abby’s confused look, she elaborates. “It’s when she puts a finger into the cervix and gently separates the amniotic sack from the side of the uterus. It’s supposed to kind of help things along.”

“I’m kind of sorry I asked.”

“If you’re going to be in the room while she’s in labor, you’d better get used to it.”

“I guess so.”

They smile at each for a few seconds, before a loud clang from the floor below interrupts the silence. Holtz yells “I’M OKAY, NOTHING’S ON FIRE!” from below, and Erin pushes herself to her feet.

“Never a dull moment,” she grumbles, even though she’s smiling as she says it.

Abby leans back in her chair, grinning. “You went into the wrong business if you wanted quiet.”

Erin goes downstairs. The fire is small and easily contained, and Holtz grins at her as she puts down the fire extinguisher.

“Er-Bear! Come join the fun!”

Erin does, lets herself be grabbed by Holtz, lets herself be swirled into as graceful a dance as a thirty-eight week along pregnant woman can dance. It’s nice, this, almost like normal, despite Holtz’s large stomach acting as almost a barrier between them. And the fact that Holtz has to sit down, having grown winded fast.

Erin knows that she’s aching and sore and dealing with all the unpleasant side-effects of being this far along in pregnancy. Despite the anxiety, despite the fears, Erin really, really hopes that Holtz doesn’t have to wait until her due date to give birth.

Of course it doesn’t happen that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the whole ten things that you can see from right here thing? Normally it's five things you can see, four you can, three you can hear, two you can smell, and one you can taste, but the ten things I can see thing works better for me, because if I don't or can't complete the cycle for some reason (Like, say, there's something really loud happening outside and I can't hear anything else), my panic attack can get worse, so my therapist suggested that I do ten things I can see instead. Sometimes I need to throw in five things I can touch, but I kept it to just ten things that Holtz could see.
> 
> Anyways, two more chapters left! Thank you for all your kind comments and kudos! It makes my day, it really does. If you're so inclined, you can come and follow me on [Tumblr](https://ainewrites.tumblr.com/): I promise writing stuff, Ghostbusters, and probably pictures of food and my dog.


	5. Labor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the chapter that made me give this an M-rating, for possible squeamish medical stuff. It's not super graphic by my terms, but it is as medically accurate as I can get it without, y'know, turning this into an OB textbook. 
> 
> But! I'm not doing a super good job of describing this right now, so, before I start talking myself into a hole I'm going to say onwards.

 

Holtz had privately been hoping that she’ll give birth like the women in sitcoms. She’ll stand up, probably after hauling herself off the couch or from a chair, panting like an injured hippo, and her water will break, and she’ll suddenly have contractions and twenty minutes later after an insanely fast cab ride to the hospital, she’ll pop out the kid. And it will all happen on her due date, quickly and easily.

It doesn’t happen like that. In fact, the only thing of significance that happens on her due date is that is passes.

About three days before she was due, Shannon Gilbert flew into New York. She’s been staying on the fold-out couch in Erin and Holtz’s apartment for the time being, until after the baby decides to make its entrance, which could be any time, although Holtz thinks it might be subscribing to the Kevin Beckman school of thought, which basically amounts to _show up whenever you show up_.

So Shannon might be here a while. She tells Holtz that Erin was two weeks early, and perfectly fine. She also tells Holtz that she has a feeling that Holtz might be one of those who are overdue, and the thought makes Holtz equal parts happy (because she’s still not sure if she’s ready for the whole _parenting_ thing) and horribly upset (because OH MY GOD SHE’S A BEACHED WHALE SHE’S HUGE SHE’S UNCOMFORTABLE GET FETUS OUT OF HER THIS INSTANT).

Holtz knows that Erin is worrying, privately, that something is wrong, even though as far as Dr. Ramirez can tell, everything’s fine.

“Baby’s dropped nicely, you’ve dilated about 1cmn, and heart beat is nice and strong. Baby’s just comfy up there,” Dr. Ramirez had said, cheerfully, at their last (and hopefully _last_ ) appointment, and told Holtz that the best way to get things moving was with moderate exercise.

Holtz had, instead, spent the last two weeks pretty much constantly sleeping, but, hey, she’s dreaming a lot and mental exercise counts, right?

But nothing really seems to be happening, so Holtz starts resigning herself to possible membrane stripping (which sounds unpleasant and painful and please, don’t make her have to deal with this).

Nothing happens. Until, something does.

She’s sitting at the table after dinner, listening to Erin and Shannon talk about various baby-relating topics as she fiddles with a broken radio she found the other day. And it happens. It’s not really painful, yet; it just feels tight and kind of throbby, like period cramps. Her hand goes to her stomach, and she looks up at Erin, eyes wide.

“Er?”

“Yeah?”

“I think something may be happening.”

Erin’s at her side in a flash. “Really? It’s not false labor again?”

“If it is, I’m going to murder someone.” Holtz smiles up at her wife, and crosses her fingers. “I think this may be it. I mean, we still have to wait to see, but…I have a good feeling about this.”

“I hope it’s it,” Erin says, sincerely, and leans down to kiss Holtz on the forehead.

Holtz knows they’re both thinking the same thing.

Please, please, _let this be it_.

-

If it is it, it doesn’t happen instantly, as much as they both may hope it would. Erin spends the entire night tossing and turning, and at the tiniest of sounds from Holtzmann, she’ll sit straight up and reach for her. Most of the time, it’s not even because of one the maybe-contractions, just a normal noise or movement made in sleep. And when it is a contraction, Holtz barely wakes, just enough to shift uncomfortably for a couple of seconds before passing out again.

It’s needless to say, but Erin is exhausted the next morning. Holtz insists on going to the firehouse, because, in her words, if she sits around the apartment all day waiting for something to happen, she’s going to explode.

Abby takes one look at Erin, with dark circles under her eyes and plowing her way through her third cup of coffee of the hour, and pulls her aside.

“Were you at the ER again last night?” She asks, softly, so no one overhears.

Erin shakes her head, tipping her head back to chug down the last of her coffee. “Holtz has started getting contractions.”

“Holy shit, seriously?”

Erin nods, setting her mug down just a little bit too hard. “I feel like I’m about to explode, Abby. She’s not even officially in labor yet, and I already think I’m about to pass out. I doubt I slept longer than an hour last night.”

“Well, part of it is probably sleep deprivation,” Abby says, wrapping an arm around Erin, pinning her arms to her side. “You should probably go see if you can sleep.”

“But-“

“What if it is actual labor? And you’re going to be up for the next twenty-four hours, you don’t want to be passing out from exhaustion. And you look like you’re about to fall asleep on your feet.”

“Fine.” Erin throws her hands up. “But I don’t think I’ll be able to with all the caffeine.”

“Yeah, it’s decaf.”

“ _What?_ ”

“I switched out the grounds about a week ago after you drank the entire pot by yourself and then spent the rest of the afternoon looking like you were vibrating. Go. Sleep.”

Erin gapes at Abby for a second, who makes a shooing motion with her hands. “Go. Sleep. We’ll wake you up if something happens.”

So Erin does.

And nothing happens.

-

Somehow, the entire firehouse found out within the first fifteen minutes of her stepping foot into the building that she was in the early onslaughts of maybe-labor, and now they won’t stop _hovering_. Shannon is taking after her daughter and is constantly asking if Holtz is okay, Patty won’t stop looking at her as if she’s about to start screaming any moment, and Abby just keeps showing up wherever Holtz is, acting calm but being very stiff about it, while watching Holtz out of the corner of her eye.

After a few hours of this, Holtz kidnaps a laptop and escapes to the very back corner of her lab, tucked between the second, just-in-case containment unit and her shelf of second-favorite tools, and video calls the only person she can think of.

Her sister appears on screen, a toddler curled in her lap.

Holtz and Elsie had been trying to keep in contact. It’s awkward, of course it is, but after seeing her, Holtzmann can’t bear to let Elsie drift away again. She knows that Elsie feels the same way, and even though Holtz isn’t going to be going to visit her anytime soon, she’s content to keep in somewhat regular contact through texting and video calls.

“Jillian?” Elsie says, her voice warped by the inferior quality of her laptop speakers. “is something wrong?”

Holtz shakes her head, watching as the toddler on Elsie’s lap looks curiously at the screen.

“Who’s that?” He asks, curiously, words slurred from a child’s careless pronunciation, and Elsie hesitates for a moment before replying.

“That’s your aunt Jillian. My sister. Jillian, this is Lucas. My youngest.”

The boy stares suspiciously at Jillian. He’s clearly related, having inherited the family’s wavy blonde hair and almost unnatural shade of blue eyes. Holtz leans as close to the laptop screen as she can. “Hi, Lucas.”

“Hi,” the boy says, shyly, before twisting to press his face into her mother’s shirt. Elsie rubs his head, absentmindedly.

“What’s up, Jillian? I thought we weren’t supposed to talk until next Friday.”

“I was wondering…well…how did you know that you were in labor?” Holtz can almost feel her cheeks flushing, strangely embarrassed by the question. “Erin’s mom said that her water broke before she actually started having contractions, but I know that’s super rare, and I just…I’ve already gone the ER once for a false alarm, and I don’t want to go through it again, y’know?”

Elsie shifts Lucas to her other hip. “With Mikey, I had to go in for an emergency C-section.”

“Whoa, really?”

Elsie nods. “I…well, I got in a bad car accident about four weeks before my due date. His heart rate dropped suddenly, and even though it was kind of early the doctors had to do it. He was in the NICU for almost a week. But with Lucas...” She leans down, kisses the boy’s blond hair. “My contractions started, and when they didn’t go away after a few hours, and stayed pretty constant, I went to the hospital and he was born seven hours later.”

She narrows in on Holtz with a laser focus, and Holtz gets the weirdest feeling, because she’s looked at Jillian like that since she was a little girl, like she could see everything Jillian was thinking. Jillian may have been (and is) the genius of the family, but it often felt like Elsie could easily pick up everything you were thinking at any given time.

“Jillian, are you in labor?”

“Maaaaybe?” Holtz says, drawing the word out long. Then she sighs, deflating a little bit. “I don’t know. I think so.”

“Trust your instincts, Jill,” Elsie says, and when she smiles at the woman on the other side of her screen, Holtz feels close to her like she hasn’t in a long, long time.

Nothing causes bonding like forcing a child out of your body, after all.

-

Holtz has been in probably-labor for almost twenty-four hours when Erin goes to find her. She’d been suspiciously quiet for the last hour and a half, and it made Erin nervous.

She finds Holtz at her desk, goggles on, blow torch ready, but doing nothing.

“Jillian?”

“Give me just a sec,” Holtz says, her voice strangely tight and winded. Erin can see the tension in her shoulders, the way she digs her fingernails into the corners of the desk. After a few seconds, Holtz exhales, and all but collapses into her chair. She smiles at Erin breezily, a bit too widely to be casual.

“Er-Bear!”

“I’m calling Dr. Ramirez.” Erin fumbles in her pockets for her phone, but Holtz is suddenly in front of her, way faster than any nine-month-along pregnant woman should be able to move. Somehow, Holtz manages to get Erin’s phone out of her pocket before Erin can even slip her hand in, and holds it just out of reach.

“Not yet, I don’t think I’m far enough along yet. The contractions are still small.”

“Holtz, that didn’t look small.” It looked like the opposite of small, and it makes Erin feel almost shaky, but she stands strong.

Jillian, on the other hand, seems to get even smaller. Erin gives her a sharp look, and Holtz passes over the phone with a dramatic eye-roll, slapping it into Erin’s palm like an angry teenager, her lips quirking up at the corners to show she doesn’t mean it.

Dr. Ramirez answers on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Dr. Ramirez?” Erin says, and Holtz’s eyes grow wide. “It’s Erin Gilbert. Jillian Holtzmann’s wife.”

“Erin!” Dr. Ramirez says, warmly. “Are things starting to move?

“I think so.”

“Well, how far apart are they?”

Holtz has crept closer, one ear up to the phone, and when Erin gives her a quizzical look, she holds up six fingers.

“Six minutes apart,” Erin says into the phone.

“And can she talk through her contractions?”

“Yes,” Erin answers, “But she sounds odd. Like she’s forcing them out.”

Dr. Ramirez chuckles. “She doesn’t seem like the kind of person who can’t talk through anything. I’d say go to the hospital, and, at worst, they’ll send you home for a few hours.”

Holtz’s eyes seem to pop behind her goggles, and Erin nearly gasps in relief because she’s been trying to get Holtz to go for _hours._

“Yes, of course,” Erin says into the phone in a rush, and Dr. Ramirez laughs, again.

“Hopefully the next time I see you I’ll be about to deliver a baby,” she says, and there’s the soft click of her hanging up her phone.

Erin turns to Holtz. “She says we should go to the hospital.”

“Are...is she sure? Because I really feel fine, Erin, I mean, yeah, the contractions are kind of painful and all, but really, they’re not so bad, and I don’t really feel like sitting around the hospital for hours.”

Erin picks up the traces of panic in her voice instantly.

“Jillian.”

The one word makes Jillian break. She bites her lips, not meeting Erin’s eyes, shifting back and forth on her feet.

“I’m not sure I’m ready,” she says, finally, so quietly Erin need to strain to hear her over the rumble and hum of equipment. “I…It’s just I don’t feel ready yet. I don’t want to screw Fetus up, Erin? What if that journalist was right and I’m too irresponsible to have a kid? What if something goes wrong?”

She chokes on tears, and Erin hugs her. Holtz buries her head in Erin’s shoulder, and Erin can feel her deep, shuddering breaths.

“I’m not sure either, Jill,” Erin says, honestly. “The fact that I’m about to be a parent _terrifies_ me. I kill every plant I touch and I’ve never even had a pet, and I’m about to be entrusted with human life, Jill. But we’re in this together, okay? You’re not going through it alone. We’re not going through this alone.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.” Jillian pulls away from Erin, and smiles, nervously, almost shyly, but brightly. “Let’s go to the hospital.”

“Oh, thank god.” The rush of relief almost makes Erin dizzy, and she runs off to get the stuff, because she needs car keys and to tell Abby and Patty and Shannon and also where the Hell did she put the birth bag she stashed?

It’s probably a good thing that when the next contraction comes, Holtz is alone in her lab, but Erin thinks that probably she’d forget everything she’d been doing and would show up at the hospital without their IDs, and they’re refuse to admit Holtz and Holtz would be one of those women on the news who gives birth outside the hospital doors, or on the floor of the ER.

She’s also kind of spiraling away into her anxiety. Just a little bit.

-

Holtz is welcomed to the hospital with a whole bunch of paperwork and a visit to the triage to make sure she’s actually in labor, which apparently is code for “This total stranger will now get up close and personal with your cervix in order to tell you if you’re far enough along that the hospital has to fork over a room.”

She learns that she’s 4cm, which is apparently the minimum amount dilated that you can be to get admitted, and that while she may have had her vagina poked at by doctors many, many times over the past few months, it never stops being wildly uncomfortable, and that her deep, burning despise for hospitals and any sort of medical procedure ever is still firmly in place.

She’s assigned two labor and delivery nurses, Marion and Alannah, and they greet her cheerfully, explaining everything she needs to know about the hospital room and how to get help if she needs it and whatnot, and then leave her to “get settled.”

Erin leaves to find the nurse’s station (probably to ask ten thousand questions), Patty leaves to actually go and park the car (because right now it’s in a fifteen minute only parking spot), and so it’s only Holtzmann and Abby in the room. Holtz sits cross-legged on the bed, watching as Abby fusses with her ancient video camera. She can see where she carved her initials on the side when she first got it. J. H.

She fixates on that when the next contraction comes, shoving the pain into the very back corners of her mind. She fists her hands in her shirt. She’d refused to put on a hospital gown; they make her feel even more vulnerable than she already does, and had instead elected to bring t-shirts.

She’d ordered three of the black t-shirts that Abby had designed, the ones with the Ghostbusters logo on them, in the biggest size she could so they’d still fit even after her stomach popped out. As it turns out, she slightly underestimated what the biggest size was, and now the t-shirts hang down almost to her knees when she’s standing up, even with her stomach. And they’re warm and soft and familiar, and she focuses on that, she focuses on the smell of the lavender laundry detergent, the feeling of the hem beneath her fingertips.

The contraction wanes, and she looks up to find Abby watching her with a sort of concerned interest.

“So,” Abby says conversationally, “That was a contraction?”

“Yep,” Holtz says, and collapses back against the pillows, only semi-dramatically. The back of the bed has been propped up, which is nice, because it means Holtz can lie back without feeling like her lungs are being compressed under all the added weight. “One down, several hundred left to go.”

Abby turns the camera over in her hands, flipping the viewfinder open. “How are you feeling?”

Holtz’s hand almost unconsciously goes to her side, where there’s a lingering, achy sort of pain, radiating from her back outwards. “I don’t know, honestly. I think I’m kind of high on adrenaline right now? Which means I’m going to crash, and I’m not looking forward to that.” She chews on her lip, watching the monitor next to her.

The nurses had hooked her up to it, just to watch her vitals and the baby’s. They’d promised to come and take her off it, soon, so she could move around, but there’s something comforting about watching the rise and fall of the graphs, moving in time with Fetus’s beating heart. She curls her hands around her stomach, not softly or gently, but protectively, wrapping her arms as far around herself as she can. Abby reaches out, lays a gentle hand on Holtz’s wrist.

“Holtzmann, we’re here for you, okay? I mean, I don’t think Patty would be anywhere near this if she didn’t love you and want to support you.”

Holtz cracks a smile. “She almost threw up when Erin told her how they do an epidural.”

“Well, she doesn’t like needles.”

“I don’t, either.”

Neither of them talk for a moment, but it’s a comfortable silence, and it’s broken pretty quickly by Abby exclaiming.

“Hey, I got it!” She turns the camera on Holtz, grinning. “Say hi to your future child, Holtzmann.”

Holtz laughs, waving at the camera. “Hi, Fetus,” she says, reaching for the camera.

“Let me give you the grand tour…”

-

Erin hadn’t gone to the nurse’s station. Well, she _had_ , but only to ask where the bathroom was, where she now is.

She grips the edges of the sink, taking deep breaths, willing her thundering heart to settle. It’s hard, because she’s _terrified_ , but she needs to be supportive, she needs to be the strong one, because right now, Holtzmann is vulnerable in a way Erin has never, ever known her to be.

She allows herself one minute. Ten seconds of anxiety and fears and overthinking, one minute of fear so strong that it makes her chest hurt. Then, she splashes water on her face, takes more deep breaths, making sure they’re from deep inside her chest, and goes to find her mom.

Shannon Gilbert is out in the waiting room, a laptop open on her lap. She smiles at Erin as she sits down beside her.

“How’re you feeling?” She asks, closing her laptop with a soft click.

Erin groans before she can stop herself, and Shannon laughs, reaching out to pat her daughter’s hand.

“I’m terrified, Mom,” Erin says, quietly, and Shannon’s laugh quickly fades.

“I know.”

“I’m scared that something will go wrong. I’ve been reading, Mom. I know the things that can go wrong for no reason at all. I...I had a nightmare last night.”

“About what?”

Erin closes her eyes. “It started out good. I remember holding this bundle in my arms that I knew was a baby, our baby, even though I couldn’t see its face, and I was happy, but then I looked up and I’m in this room that’s empty except for a hospital bed, and Holtz…” Erin takes a deep breath, fisting her hands to stop them from trembling. “There was so much blood. Everywhere. All over the sheets, on the floor, and Holtzmann was so pale that she looked gray, and I just remember _knowing_ that she’s not going to survive.”

“And then?” Shannon’s voice is calm. Serene, almost.

“And then Holtz kicked me in the thigh in her sleep and I woke up.”

“And that’s what’s real,” Shannon says. “Er, I know it felt real, but it wasn’t. And you’re surrounded by wonderful doctors, and if anything goes wrong, which it probably won’t, they’ll be by Holtz’s side in seconds.”

“You’re right. Part of my brain knows you’re right, but the other part is stuck on what-if.”

“Don’t get stuck on what-if,” Shannon says. “If you get stuck on what-if you’ll be out here with me for the entirety of her labor. Go to your wife, Erin. I’ll be out here.”

Erin nods. “Okay. Okay.” She stands up, and her mom squeezes her hand.

“Okay,’ She says again, and heads back down the hall.

She can do this. After all, it’s Holtz that’s doing all the hard work.

-

They’ve been at the hospital for almost three hours, and the amount of progress has been absolutely nothing. Holtz remains stubbornly at 4cm, and the nurses only stop in every once and while to strap the fetal monitor around Holtzmann’s stomach for a few minutes, before breezing away again.

Patty and Holtz and Abby play poker on her bed, because apparently one of the things that Holtz had smuggled into Erin’s birth bag was a deck of cards, and they gamble using Skittles Patty had gotten from the vending machine out in the waiting room. Erin’s trying to be calm, she’s trying to ooze calmness, but it doesn’t seem to be working considering the way Abby gives glancing at her out of side of her eye.

Her anxiety spikes with Holtz’s every contraction. Holtz will grimace, a hand going to her lower back, and Erin will have to dig her fingernails into her palms to stop herself from springing forward. She did on the first couple of contractions, but after the fourth time, Holtz glared at her with such intensity that Erin had taken a step back. Now, Abby or Patty will reach over and rub her back or arm, and when the contraction is over, they’ll go right back to playing.

The minutes turn into hours, and when Alannah comes to check Holtz, she cheerfully informs them at Holtz is still at 4cm.

“You guys can go home,” Holtz tells Abby and Patty. It’s almost eleven, and they’ve been at the hospital since five thirty, been checked in since six. “Things aren’t movin’ down here.” She pats her stomach. “Fetus wants to stay put.”

“We can call you guys if anything happens,” Erin adds.

When Patty and Abby refuse to leave, Erin has to all but shove them out the door, saying it’s not good for anyone to be passing out, exhausted, before the baby is born.

Holtz curls up on the bed, pulling the sheets up, over her legs. “Hey, Er?”

“Yeah?”

“Join me.” She pats the bed next to her, but there’s no seductive eyebrow raise, no sexual thrust of her hips, or lick of her lips. She looks so small, in that hospital bed, and Erin doesn’t hesitate. She steps out of her shoes and climbs up onto the bed, settling down next to her wife.

They don’t say anything. Jillian reaches out and takes Erin’s hand, and Erin holds it tightly.

Eventually, Holtz slips into a doze, but Erin doesn’t. She just watches her wife’s faces, follows the lines of exhaustion and pain etched across them, and kisses her forehead.

Erin wishes she could take this pain from Holtz, wishes she could take the pain that’s sure to come, but she knows, even if she could, Holtz wouldn’t let her.

-

They decide to break Holtzmann’s water to see if it helps speed things along. Holtz is roused from her light sleep, and Erin nearly passes out when she sees the tool that Marion is going to use to do it.

It looks like a croquet hook, but sharper and pointier, and Erin gets so dizzy she needs to sit down. Holtz smirks, but there’s traces of fear in the corners of her eyes.

But the procedure is quick and easy, amniotic fluid spilling out in a rush, and Holtz grimaces.

“It feels like I’m peeing myself constantly, but I can’t hold it in,” she complains, and Marion smiles.

“That’s pretty normal,” the nurse says, cheerfully. “When I had my son my water broke in the car to the hospital, and my poor husband had to mop it up. It looked like someone had dumped a gallon of water all over our seats.” She pats Holtz’s thigh, and Holtz sits up, closing her legs from their splayed position. She rearranges her tee, swinging her legs around so they dangle off the edge of the bed.

Marion strips off her gloves, tossing them in the trash can beside the door. “Alannah or I will come in and check on you in a while, okay? If you need anything in the meantime, Erin knows where to find us.” She gives Erin a smile on the way out the door.

Holtz shifts on the bed. She can still feel the wetness of the amniotic fluid, even though Marion had gathered up the absorbent pad under her once her water had broken.

“I don’t like this,” she says, simply, flopping back against the bed.

“Try and get more sleep,” Erin suggests, and Holtz can hear her biting back a yawn.

“Okay.”

“I’m going to go see if I can find coffee.”

“Okay.”

“If anything happens-“

“Press the panic button. I know, Er.” Holtzmann covers her eyes in the crook of her elbow. She wills her muscles to relax, taking deep, steady breaths. She hears Erin hesitate before she leaves the room, but the door closes with a soft click a few seconds later.

The room fills with an almost silence, the ever-steady blip of machines fading into the background. Holtz can hear a baby crying out in the hallway, and the sound makes her hand go to her stomach. She prods at the skin, and in response, she feels a foot or an elbow or a hand dig into her hand.

This is why she’s doing this, she reminds herself, as she listens to the strange baby out in the hall. As much as it’s awful to go through, as horrible as the pain, as the poking and prodding is, at the end of it, she’ll get to meet Fetus. She and Erin will be parents.

And hey, that’s not a bad payoff at all.

-

Erin finds coffee in the form of lukewarm, brown sludge from a vending machine. She sips at the concoction from a Styrofoam cup, wrinkling her nose. Even after six packets of sugar and cream it’s still barely drinkable, but it’s blessedly caffeinated.

It had taken her almost ten minutes of wandering the halls to find the machine, not wanting to bother any of the nurses, and she’s already been gone longer than she intended, so she takes a shortcut through the L&D waiting room.

Erin almost walks past them without noticing, but something familiar flashes by in the corner of her eye. She turns, and Abby smiles at her.

“Hey,” Abby says softly, the blue glow from her phone screen reflecting off her glasses.

“I thought I told you guys to go home,” Erin whispers.

Abby shrugs. “Did you honestly think we would leave?”

Erin looks to Abby’s other side. Both Patty and Shannon are asleep in their chairs. Shannon has her legs tucked up underneath her, and Patty has her legs stretched out, head to the side, arms crossed. They look so cute that Erin smiles a little.

“No, I guess not,” Erin admits, glancing around the waiting room. It’s emptier than it was when they first checked in, and most of the people are either asleep or look like they’re about to fall asleep, and a couple meet Erin’s eye and smile at her.

“How’s Holtzmann doing?” Abby asks, returning Erin’s attention to her.

“Fine, she’s fine.” Erin shifts from foot to foot, wildly aware of the ticking clock above her head. “They just broke her water to see if it would help speed things along.”

“That sounds unpleasant,” Patty says, her eyes still closed, and Erin jumps, unaware that she had been awake.

“It was,” Erin says, and stands there for a second before saying, “You guys don’t have to wait out here. I mean, if you’re here, you might as well be in the room with us.”

Abby pushes herself to her feet, wincing as her back makes a popping sound. She links her elbow with Erin’s, like she used to when they were teenagers. “Come on, Er. Let’s get you back to your wife.”

It takes a couple more minutes to rouse Patty enough for her to blearily follow them down the hallway, the woman not _quite_ awake yet. Abby leans over to peer into Erin’s cup.

“What the hell are you drinking?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

-

Breaking Holtzmann’s water did exactly what it was supposed to do. When one of the nurses came in to check her again, she cheerfully announced that Holtz had progressed almost magically to 6cm in a little over two hours. This is both good news and bad news.

Good news: It’s one step closer to actually having the baby.

Bad news: It means more pain.

Holtz sits in the bathtub in her sports bra. Alannah had suggested a bath, saying it might make the pain a little bit easier to manage, and Erin doesn’t really know if it’s working or not, because Holtz’s face is pinched with pain and exhaustion, and she looks awful.

“My back hurts,” she whimpers, and the words break Erin’s heart a little bit because she doesn’t think she’s ever heard Jillian whimper before. She rubs at the small of Jillian’s back, and she closes her eyes, leaning her head against Erin’s shoulder.

Outside the tiny bathroom, Erin can hear the gentle murmur of conversation. She can’t hear what they’re saying, exactly, but she can pick up on the familiar rise and fall of both Abby and Patty’s voices, and the mildly unfamiliar one of one of the nurses.

There’s a soft knock on the door, and Alannah slips into the room. She kneels down next to the bathtub. Jillian is wearing her sunglasses, and Alannah, to her credit, doesn’t even bat an eye.

“I’m just going to check the baby’s heartbeat, okay?” She says, and at Jillian’s nod, straps the monitor around Jillian’s stomach. For a few minutes the room is filled with the steady sound of heartbeats, and Alannah pulls the monitor out of the water, shaking water droplets off her arm, just as Erin feels Jillian’s fingernails dig into the skin of her wrist.

“It’s okay,” Erin whispers into Jillian’s hair, long-since fallen from its usual style. “You’re okay, Jillian.”

The contraction lasts about a minute before fading away, and Jillian takes in a gasping breath. Erin can feel her muscles tense under her hands, the slightest of trembles.

“Dr. Holtzmann?” Alannah says, and Jillian opens her eyes. “I know you’ve probably been asked this a lot, but if you could rate your pain on a scale from one to ten, it’d help us know-“

Jillian cuts her off.

“The next person to ask me that is going to be fucking punched,” Jillian says, and there’s no fire behind her voice, but Erin’s eyes still widen in shock. To her surprise, though, Alannah just laughs.

“Noted,” the nurses says, and uses the edge of the bathtub to push herself to her feet. At Erin’s apologetic look, she laughs, again. “Don’t worry. Compared to some of the things I’ve been told today, that’s extremely mild.”

Then they’re alone in the room again. Jillian’s shaking, and Erin curls her free hand around Jillian’s hand, where it’s gripping the edge of the bathtub.

“Jill.”

“It hurts, Er,” Jillian says, and there are tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. “I didn’t expect it to hurt like this.”

“You can still get something to help with the pain,” Erin suggests hesitantly, even though she’s pretty sure she knows what the answer will be. Jillian doesn’t want an epidural, but not in a “I want an all-natural birth” sort of way, more in a “deathly afraid of having needle inserted into the space between my spine” sort of way, and judging by how quickly her face loses all its color at the mention, Erin knows that’s still standing.

“Or not,” Erin hastily amends, and kisses her wife’s forehead.

-

It’s 5AM when Jillian feels as if the ground has been swept out from under her feet. The contractions before this have been steady, painful, but steady, and there was always a break between them, even if they left a memory of the pain. Now, there’s no break between them, just waves of pain breaking over her, and she can feel herself panic.

“Holtzmann!”

Jillian feels hands grip hers, and she opens her eyes enough to see Patty. Patty gestures wildly at Abby.

“Go get Erin!”

Abby takes off to get Jillian’s wife, who had gone to talk to Shannon. Patty hits the button the calls the nurses, but Jillian is only vaguely aware of that. She’s drowning, drowning beneath waves of pain, an ocean of waves with no break, and just as she feels like she’s about the surface she can feel herself being pulled under again.

“Holtzy,” Patty says, “Take a breath. You’re holding your breath.

It feels like her lungs are being compressed.

The door flies open, and Erin’s there, wild-eyed and panting, clearly having had run down the hallways. Jillian reaches for her instinctively, and Erin grabs her hands.

“I can’t do it, Erin,” Jillian sobs, and out of the corner of her eye she’s aware of Marion coming into the room. “It’s too much, I can’t do it.”

She feels sick.

“Jillian, you can do it.” Erin looks her straight in the eyes. “You’re the strongest, bravest person I know. You can do this.”

“She’s in transition,” Marion says from her place at the foot of the bed. “She’s almost at 10cm. Almost ready to push. I’ve called for Dr. Ramirez.”

“Do you hear that, Jill?” Erin says, softly, almost against Jillian’s ear. “You’re almost done.”

Almost done.

-

It feels as if she pushes for an eternity. Her world narrows to pain and pushing and _pain_ , deep and intense, as all her organs are being pulled together and ripped apart at the same time. Words of encouragement come from all angles, Patty holding her hand on one side, Abby beside her.

(Earlier, Abby had been filming, and Holtz had accidently knocked the camera from her hands. When they go through the footage later, they find forty minutes of feet and the space under the bed before Patty notices it and picks it up, turning it off.)

But, most importantly, there’s Erin. Erin, one arm around Jillian’s shoulders, letting Jillian crush the bones in her other hand to dust. Jillian buries her face in Erin’s chest. Distantly, she can hear Dr. Ramirez calling, saying that she can see the baby’s head, that Jillian is almost there.

Almost there.

“You’re almost there, Jill,” Erin whispers, brushing hair, dark with sweat, away from Jillian’s face. “You’re doing so well. You’re amazing. I love you.”

The words echo in Jillian’s ears.

_I love you, I love you, I love you._

She roars her pain, her determination, her fear, and _pushes_.

-

Jillian will remember this part for the rest of her life. Even after the memory of pain fades from her mind, even when the hours of labor become a blur, she’ll remember this.

The feeling of sudden release, and the flurry of movement, and a ruddy, slippery, squalling baby being lifted up and placed onto her chest.

-

Erin cries, choking on tears, hands pressed to her mouth.

But if Erin cries, Jillian _sobs_. She clutches the baby, the tiny, _tiny_ baby to her chest, sobbing, shoulders shaking. The baby mewls, not quite cries, just soft little sounds, and they worm their way into Jillian’s heart as quickly and as easily as if they were made to do it.

“Hi, baby,” She says, softly, voice thick with tears and so many emotions she can’t pick specific ones out. “Hi, baby”, and the baby blinks, opening eyes wide and _blue_ , and Jillian feels herself get lost in those eyes, those perfect eyes.

“Hi, baby.”

“Congratulations, you two,” Dr. Ramirez says, smiling behind her mask. “You’ve delivered a healthy baby girl.”

“I told you,” Abby says from her place next to Jillian’s bed, voice thick with unshed tears. “Patty, you owe me five bucks.”

Patty laughs, and Jillian can hear tears in her voice, too, but she ignores the both of them.

“Look, Erin,” Jillian says, “Look at her. Look at our daughter.”

Erin shakes her head, unable to speak, and Jillian didn’t know someone could smile so wide while crying so hard.

-

“Did y’all decide on a name?” Patty asks, and Erin nods, biting her lip, tear tracks on her face. Everyone looks to Jillian, who smiles, not taking her eyes off her daughter.

“Emery. Emery Lise Holtzmann-Gilbert.”

“It’s a beautiful name,” Abby says, and Patty murmurs her agreement.

“She’s beautiful,” Erin says, the first words she’s spoken since Emery was born. “She’s so beautiful, Jillian. You’re beautiful.”

“Aw,” Jillian says, a joking tilt to her mouth, “Thanks, Er. Now come here and hold your daughter.”

Erin does, her face so full of _wonder_ that it makes Jillian’s chest fill with heat, because, now, watching her wife hold her newborn daughter, only minutes old, it feels like she’s falling in love all over again.

She’s falling in love, over and over and over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! The baby is born. Some of you caught my mess up the previous chapter (Seriously, I referred to Emery as "she" twice and you guys caught it??), and already knew she was a girl, but hopefully the rest of you didn't know! As for the name, Lincoln and Nico were both contenders, as were a couple of names of prominent female scientists (Marie, Lise, Rosalind), but I ran a Twitter poll (because I'm _professional_ ), and Emery was the winner. Lise ended up being the middle name, because of course Erin and Holtz would want to name a kid of theirs after a nuclear engineer.
> 
> I really like the name Emery, I think it's super cute, plus it means both brave and powerful, and in some langagues, means hard-working. I dunno, I just think Erin and Holtz would like that. 
> 
> There's just one more chapter after this, a shorter epilogue type thing, which should (hopefully) be up tomorrow as long as my professor doesn't decide that tonight's the perfect night to give us piles of math worksheets, which I honestly wouldn't put past him.


	6. After Birth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! This is it. The epilogue.

Holtz hurts. Not in a contraction sort of hurt, but in an achy, lingering sort of soreness, not sharp and stabbing. Also, her vagina hurts, which she didn’t know was possible, and every time she moves her legs too much it causes her stitches to pull.

Stitches. Because apparently that’s a thing that happens. Childbirth involved a lot more _tearing_ than she was originally aware of.

But it’s worth it. It’s so, so worth it.

Emery sleeps peacefully, wrapped in one of the hospital’s soft, blue blankets, cradled in Erin’s arms. Erin’s in a chair next to Holtz’s bed, just watching the baby, unable to take her eyes away. Holtz smiles and watches them, not interrupting, not making any noise.

Erin notices her after a couple of minutes.

“Hey,” she says softly, so she doesn’t wake Emery. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like I just shoved a watermelon out of my body.” Holtz tries to push herself upright, wincing all the way, but from this position she can see Emery’s face, and something inside her chest goes warm and soft and happy.

“Do you want her?” Erin asks, shifting as if she’s about to pass the baby over, but Holtz shakes her head.

“I’m enjoying the view from here.”

The distance hurts, a little bit, even though they’re only a couple of feet away, but Holtz feels like this is a sight she’ll never tire of. Erin, holding _their daughter_ , looking at her like she’s the most amazing thing she’s ever seen. And, Holtzmann may admittedly be a bit biased, but she thinks Emery is the most amazing thing she’s ever seen, too.

“She looks like you,” Erin says, glancing up at Holtz. “She has your nose, your chin.”

“Really?” Holtzmann says, grinning. “I think she looks way more like you.”

Erin laughs, softly. “I don’t think that’s how biology works, Holtz.”

“Fuck biology,” Holtz says cheerfully. “She has your eyes and you can’t convince me otherwise.”

In Erin’s arms, Emery stirs, and before Holtz can protest, Erin transfers her neatly into her own arms. Two brilliantly blue eyes open, and Emery squeaks, softly, and Holtz can’t get over how _small_ she is. How tiny and delicate and breakable. She touches the tip of her finger to Emery’s nose, just tracing the curve of it gently, and Emery blinks, closing her eyes. Two fists, as tiny as the rest of her, reach up to scrub at her face.

“Hi, Emery,” Holtz whispers, and Emery blinks, lips pursing, and Holtz’s heart melts. “Hi, baby.”

Erin leans forward, reaching out to gently stroke the soft, downy blonde hair that crowns Emery’s head like a halo. “Hi, baby,” she echoes, and Holtzmann thinks she can hear the hints of tears in the corners of her voice. She rests her head against Holtz’s, and Holtz twists to place a kiss against her cheekbone.

“We’re your mommies.”

-

They leave the hospital quickly. There are a few quick instructions from nurses (“Take it easy for the first few days, no strenuous exercise, and no sex for the first six weeks.”), and she’s handed packages of newborn diapers, breast pads (so she doesn’t leak milk all over her shirts, because apparently, that’s a thing that happens), and absorbent underwear, because leakage (“Don’t you just want to go and have sex with me immediately, Er?” Holtz had crowed, and Erin had laughed and shoved her shoulder gently). You bleed a lot after giving birth, Holtz finds out quickly, and she makes more than one joke about how Emery isn’t the only one that needs diapers.

And now, they’re home, in their apartment. It’s an awkward shuffle down the hallway from the elevator to the door, because Holtz walks stiffly and with her legs apart like a cowboy in old westerns, and Erin is carrying all their bags. Shannon cradles Emery, already totally enamoured with her first grandchild. Not that Holtz is surprised. Emery is already the greatest baby of all time, and she’s barely two days old.

Now, Holtz is staring down into the crib, at Emery curled up, so tiny and sleeping peacefully.

“Holtz?” Erin comes into the room, already in her pajamas, and wraps her arm around Holtz’s waist. “Are you ready to go to bed?”

The thought of leaving Emery alone, in this room, even with the baby monitor, makes Holtz’s chest hurt, and she twists so she can meet Erin’s eyes.

“I don’t want to be away from her,” she admits, and the look of relief on Erin’s face is instant.

“Thank god. I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving her alone in here, either.”

Which is how they end up in the bed, all three of them. Holtz is curled on her side, on hand resting gently on Emery’s chest, feeling the faint rise and fall of her breaths. She meets Erin’s eyes in the darkness, and she smiles.

Nothing is said, but somehow, an entire eternity of conversations happen in that one glance.

Right now, everything is perfect.

-

Like everything else in life, parenting has its ups and downs. Being woken by a screaming baby in the middle of the night, demanding to be changed or fed, is never pleasant. Holtzmann hasn’t showered in probably four days, she’s barely eaten, and she barely leaves the bed.

But it’s wonderful, too. Even with the exhaustion and the sleepless nights and demanding baby, she wouldn’t give this up for the world.

Erin crawls onto bed next to her, even though it’s only six. Emery is nursing, which is an odd sensation, and Holtz thinks it will always be and odd sensation, but she loves these quiet moments. Erin rests her head on Holtz’s shoulder, watching Emery, an arm linking with Holtz’s.

“Hey,” Erin says, almost in a whisper.

“Hey, Er-Bear.”

“Can you believe that Emery’s almost a week old?” Erin traces the curve of Emery’s arm, where it’s resting against Holtz’s chest. “It feels like forever.”

“And yet no time at all.” It feels like only yesterday that Holtz took that pregnancy test, the one that showed up positive, after months of trying and hoping and waiting.

It’s been months. Months of doctors and fears, months of discomfort and pain, all for this. This single, tiny, precious human being.

It’s a good trade, Holtzmann thinks. Because, if she had too, she’d do it all again in a heartbeat, if it ended up like this.

-

Later, there will be time. Emery will be introduced to her Auntie Abby and Aunt Patty. Abby will hold her in the crook of her arm and explain her complicated scientific theories to her, and Emery will watch her with wide eyes, as if she’s listening. Patty will call her Emmy and read her chapters of historical nonfiction like they’re bedtime stories. She’s be introduced to Kevin, too, but Erin won’t let him hold her, not all the times she’s seen him drop things.

Erin will carry her in the baby sling everywhere, keeping her pressed close at all times, stopping to kiss her every time she so much as squeaks. Holtz will scoop her in her arms and dance with her, gently, but still spinning across the floor, and, when she’s old enough, Emery will laugh the entire time.

She’ll grow up in the firehouse. The three floors will become as familiar to her as her own bedroom. She’ll cry at the siren and giggle at the flashing lights of Holtz’s lab, and she’ll learn and laugh and love and be loved, all within these four walls, because within the firehouse is her family.

One day, she’ll toddle across the floor, laughing, toward her four cheerleaders, and collapse into Holtz’s arms, who will kiss her forehead and spin her around.

One day, Emery will no longer be a baby. She’ll go to school and learn. She might fall in love. She might like girls or boys or both or neither. She might take after her mothers and go to college and become a scientist, or she might not, but they’ll be proud of her no matter what.

But that’s all later. For now, she’s a week old, being cradled in her mother’s arms, her other mom right beside her.

Erin curls up, against Holtz, and Holtz rests her head on Erin’s, and they watch Emery, one week old, pink and precious and perfect. She has stolen their hearts, quickly and easily, by simply existing.

“Hey, Er?” Jillian says, breaking the easy, comfortable silence.

“Hmm?” Erin mumbles, drowsy and content.

“I love you, you know that?”

“I love you too, Jillian.”

“And I love you, Emery,” Jillian says, leaning down and brushing a kiss against her daughter’s forehead.

“I love you,” Erin echoes, curling her arm around Emery.

Emery, unaware, keeps nursing. But that’s fine. There’s a time for understanding what the word means later.

For now, she’s just loved. Completely and totally and utterly, she’s loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for sticking with me through this! Especially since I had no idea how it would turn out, but you all seemed to like it. 
> 
> Thank you for all your lovely comments and kudos, it seriously makes my day! I've been having a hard few weeks, mental-health wise, and it always made me so happy to come home to find lovely, supportive comments. I love you all.
> 
> As always, I am on [Tumblr](https://ainewrites.tumblr.com/), so come watch me talk about Ghostbusters and food, and possibly stick around and chat!
> 
> Again, thank you all for sticking through this 'fic with me!


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